Into The Light
by eacarter
Summary: Still reeling from the fallout of the Battle for the Broken Shore, Khadgar learns Azeroth has less than one month left before Illidan rises again as Sargeras's avatar. While the battle for Illidan's soul rages within the Nether, Khadgar must gather the quarrelling nations, find and breach the Chamber of the Eye, and stop Gul'dan before it is too late. But at what cost?
1. Prologue

_Author's Note: With the Legion expansion and the lore that came with it, I could not resist writing an alternate ending to the one Blizz intends to give us. I have tried to stick with most of the canon so it reads like a real book from Blizz. But, alas, I'm human and expect I will have made errors/misrepresentations despite my long hours researching the backstories of my characters and the huge history of Azeroth. I hope any mistakes will not take away your enjoyment of the story. If they are really glaring, please do let me know by PM so I can work on fixing them. I wrote Into the Light over 28 days during NaNoWriMo 2016. I do hope you will enjoy it._

 _Disclaimer: All characters and the universe of this Warcraft fanfic (apart from Idira who is my own creation) are from the MMORPG World of Warcraft and are owned by Blizzard Entertainment. Only the story crafted into it is mine._

Awards & Accolades

**Winner of The Wing Awards on wattpad (June 4, 2017)**

**Finalist of the Good as Gold Award for Fantasy on wattpad (Jan 29, 2017)**

**Top 20 finalist in The Pursuit of Excellence Awards on wattpad (Mar 20, 2017)**

**Selected by wattpad HQ to be a Featured Story (April 5, 2017)**

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

* * *

Illidan opened his eyes. Nothing. He cursed. No sound came. He screamed. Silence. He withdrew, and felt himself shrink until he was no bigger than a speck. He spread out, and let himself extend across the vastness of the Twisting Nether. So this was how it was to be. His fight against the Burning Legion had finally ended. He had become a spirit, a formless, silenced entity. Isolated, lost and alone he would remain there until his spirit succumbed to the glacial pressures of the infinite realm and fragmented, to be remade into another being in the realm of the living.

He felt the pressures beginning to pull on him, tearing at him. No. It was too soon. It should take an aeon to come apart, he knew enough to know the Twisting Nether allowed the dead plenty of time to suffer the horror of their wrongs, imprisoned in its oppressive silence. And he, the one called The Betrayer knew he had much to account for. He had expected to suffer for longer than most.

There. Again. A tug, harsh, jarring. It burned, cold. How? He turned, searching for the source. It came again. Waves of searing cold crashed over him. He screamed, shuddering. This was not the Twisting Nether's doing. This, whatever it was—was something else.

He shivered. It was so cold. When did it become so cold? He blinked, astonished. Colour stained the edge of his vision, creeping inwards. No. Impossible. Not even he, with his enhanced demonic abilities could see in this realm. But he _was_ seeing. He stared at the sinuous streaks of blue, green, red and gold surrounding him, drifting past in epochal silence. The time streams.

Fascinated, he pulled himself toward the nearest one. He reached out for it. Of course. He had no form. He was nothing. Nothing more than thought, and consciousness, everything he was, all that he had been, amounting to nothing more than this.

His vision widened, expanding, spreading. He gaped, stunned. The vastness of the Nether staggered him. Planets floated by, forming and disintegrating, spinning away and returning in the blink of an eye. There was no time here, no structure, it was chaos. He couldn't stand it. He closed his eyes. Everything remained. He screamed. It was too much. He couldn't make it stop. He clawed at his face, but he had no face, he had no hands.

The cold returned, pinpoints, tiny ice-cold daggers digging deep into his being, anchoring there, tugging hard in all directions. Nothing the Wardens had done to him—not even their darkest, most malicious of punishments—could compare to this. He sobbed, like a child, crying out, begging for it to cease. But no one could hear him. The tugging continued, and a part of him pulled free, attached to a green tether. The tether whipped away into the Nether, taking a part of his being with it, the tether thrashed, suffering its own throes of agony as it retreated into the distance.

The pain ended. He curled up into a ball, rotating slowly as the planets and time streams carried on their endless passages through time and space. He slept, for how long, he couldn't say. The pain came again, the cold burying deep within him. Another tether left him. He crawled after it, suffering, weeping, following its retreat, determined to know what was happening to him. The tethers came and left, one after another. Each time, he followed, moving a little closer to where they were coming from. He toiled after the tethers as tiny pieces of his being left him—until he found it—a dark portal limned in foul green. The Burning Legion. He drifted as close to it as he dared. A voice, cold, and abrasive gnawed its way into him.

Gul'dan.

 _Ah. You have found me. Then, let us begin._

Illidan snarled. _Begin what?_

 _Touch the portal, and you will see._

Illidan scoffed. The fool didn't realise he could not touch anything. A tether snapped out of the darkness, and took hold of him. He recoiled, but this time it didn't hurt. He watched, incredulous as it pulled on him. More tethers flashed out, grappling onto him. A chuckle, dark and sinister echoed from the opposite side.

He could feel himself stretching, widening, filling up more and more space. The tethers pulled on him, tugging, wrapping him in a cocoon of fel energy. It was slow, agonising. The tethers pulled away. He held up his hands, examining them, incredulous. He touched his legs and torso. He was whole again, but not as a demon hunter, as Illidan, the night elf, before the Skull of Gul'dan transformed him. Why would he take this shape, and not his own? Nothing made any sense.

 _Now. Touch the portal._

Unable to stop himself, he brushed his fingers against the inky, viscous darkness. It felt warm.

 _See with my eyes. Your destiny._

A flash of burning light. Blinded again. He cursed, pressing his palm against his eye sockets, trying to ease the pain. His senses acclimatised. The dwindling flames of a burning city. Suramar. Reduced to ash. His home. No. He turned. Everywhere, fire, smoke, and demons. The grass, trees, animals, birds, even the rivers and seas were gone. Nothing had been spared. Only rock remained. Across the wasteland, the demon hordes gather, waiting for Gul'dan to open a portal to another world, paid for with the souls of the last of the living prisoners. Their cries are silenced; the portal is ready. A new world awaits; fresh, green, and verdant with life, reminding Illidan of the days of his youth, before the arrival of the Burning Legion.

Speaking in demonic, he, a towering dreadlord, orders the Legion through the portal, to cleanse the next world in the name of his master, Sargeras. They roar, rushing into it, hungry, endless. A flutter in the hot, dry air catches his eye. A body, crumpled, lays atop the others, just one of many, sacrificed for the portal's opening.

Something feels familiar about this one. Curious, he approaches, the ground quaking under his enormous weight. Bending over, he snatches the body, tiny and fragile from the pile of the dead. Within his scaly grip, a female night elf—her once regal gown tattered and filthy—hangs limp, her long green hair falling over her face. With the flick of his claw, her hair falls aside. He laughs, Illidan, but not Illidan, and tosses the body back onto the heap, where it lands, broken. Without looking back, he enters the portal, and leaves Azeroth, vanquished, and lifeless.

The images fade. Something cold grips his hand within the portal.

 _You are the Chosen One, through you Sargeras will live again. Now, come to me._

Horrified, Illidan snatched his hand away, panting. No matter what, he would not become that thing. Whatever it would take, however much he would have to suffer, he would not succumb. He fled the portal, until the planets and time streams became nothing more than a smear of colour.

He stopped. He had gone far, but not far enough. So long as he was in the Twisting Nether, he was trapped. Gul'dan would be searching for him, and before long he would find him again. He wouldn't let Illidan escape a second time.

Illidan thought of the one his future self had discarded so carelessly, his demonic heart cold and filled with darkness. But that was not him, at least not yet. Gul'dan intended to bring Illidan back from the dead to be the avatar of the Dark Titan. Illidan shuddered. Against Sargeras, Azeroth, and all within it would fall, including the one he still loved.

He floated, restless, his form glimmering each time a time stream flowed through him. A thought rose up. Perhaps he was not as helpless as he believed. In his arrogance, Gul'dan had done Illidan a favour. He had given him form, and via that filthy portal, Illidan now had a connection to Azeroth.

He closed his eyes and concentrated. He could feel Gul'dan's tendrils reaching across the void, searching, relentless. He ignored them. He thought of the woman, hanging limp in his grip. Anger burned within him, hot, powerful, indomitable. He pressed it down into a tiny spot, compressing it until it was just a speck, dense, laden with his intention. He let it go, and called to her.

"Tyrande. I need your Light. I cannot fight this alone."

He flew backwards, grunting, as a wall of sound hit him. Gul'dan, the fool, had given him his voice back.

Illidan smiled. This fight was not over. The next time Gul'dan found him, he would be prepared.


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

* * *

Tyrande sat up. Where was she? She waited, calming herself. Darkness surrounded her. This was new, unfamiliar. This was neither the Emerald Dream nor the Nightmare. It was just—nothing.

A voice, in the distance, so faint, she had to strain to hear it. Her name. She knew that voice. But, it was from so long ago. Another time, another age. Thousands of years in the past. Light came. She looked around, stunned. She had seen this before, once, while walking the Emerald Dream.

The Twisting Nether. She rubbed her hands over her arms, feeling cold. It was so vast, it made the travails of her world feel small and insignificant by comparison. She closed her eyes. It was enough, she wanted to leave.

"Tyrande," a whisper, filled with longing.

She opened her eyes. Her heart caught between beats. She had forgotten how he had looked, he was power incarnate.

Her voice wavered, uncertain. "Illidan?"

He reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek, tendrils of light sparkling where their spirits connected.

"You came to me. I can hardly believe it. I have waited so long. Gul'dan has found me. I can hold against him a while longer, but not forever." Tethers of fel energy slammed into him, crawling over him, clawing at him, tearing into him. He looked up, agonised. "Help me. I beg you, I need the Light . . . before I succumb, before I am . . . one with Sargeras."

Hesitant, Tyrande touched him, channelling the Light of Elune into him, exhausting her own supply within heartbeats. Still, he shuddered, quaking, lost in his internal battle against Gul'dan.

She gave him more, everything she had, knowing she would pay a great price on her return. She didn't care, she couldn't bear to see him suffering. He was fighting against the Legion. Alone. She had to help him. All of Azeroth had to help him. He was the key, he could destroy the Legion, so long as he was given the support he needed.

A tether snapped free, whipping away, clutching a piece of Illidan's soul in its maw.

He hung, panting, exhausted. She waited. He met her eyes, his own hollow, desperate. "Gul'dan takes me, piece by piece, giving life to the avatar that will be Sargeras." He looked away. "He has shown me all, he has my body. He takes my soul, and feeds it back into my body, corrupted. The only thing standing between Azeroth and its annihilation is my will to fight."

Tyrande nodded, her heart cold. Gul'dan was far more dangerous than anyone had considered. To be able to breach the walls of the Nether. It was unthinkable. Yet, he had done it.

"Where is your body? If we find it, we can stop this."

Illidan paled, the tethers were climbing over him again, digging, virulent "The Tomb of Sargeras. The Chamber of the Eye."

He screamed, writhing, tearing at the tethers.

Tears burned in Tyrande's eyes. It was unbearable. No longer could she see the monster Illidan had become. All she could see was Illidan, the night elf once more fighting, alone, to save Azeroth. Only this time, he might win, if she, and everyone else rallied to his side.

She touched his brow. "I will come back, I promise. Hold on, just a little longer."

* * *

Tyrande opened her eyes, her body aching. The Light of Elune filtered through the open bedroom window, bathing the room in cool, blue light. Outside, soft voices drifted past, as The Temple of the Moon's newest apprentices hurried to their classes. Below, in the reception room, one of the serving girls swept out the braziers, singing softly to herself as she prepared the day's fires. Tyrande realised it was still early, her morning meal would not arrive for at least another hour.

Curled up beside Tyrande, Iasar still slept, purring her in sleep. Tyrande stroked the saber kitten between her ears, savouring the softness of her companion's fur. She thought of the day she had rescued Iasar from the hands of those wretched hunters of Nesingwary. They had killed Iasar's mother for her fur, and captured the tiny kitten, still in need of her mother's milk, to sell to the zoo at Darkmoon Faire, expecting a handsome price. Hunted almost to extinction for their fur, a white spotted saber kitten was a rare thing.

Tyrande had come upon the hunters poaching on the sacred grounds of the Moonwell near the Pools of Arlithrien, poking at the kitten through the bars of its cramped cage, taunting it. Her lip curled in distaste. Humans. Typical. Disrespectful, arrogant fools. How she had wanted to burn them with Moonfire, but no, unlike them, she was no murderer. Instead she rooted them, and left them trapped for half a day, while her guards removed the mother for burial and took the little shivering baby away, to be nourished by a surrogate at the stables. Tyrande had gone to visit Iasar whenever she could, their bond growing day by day. When Iasar was ready, Tyrande took her home with her, and Iasar had never left her side since.

Tyrande leaned over and pressed her lips against the kitten's head, grateful for the comfort she gave during these terrible times. Iasar chirruped in her sleep, and snuggled deeper into the blankets. Sighing, Tyrande left the bed, and went to the window. Trailing her fingertips along the wooden ledge of the window, she traced the pattern of the tree's rings, her thoughts troubled.

Bathed in the Light of Elune, she considered what she was about to do. She would have to go to her consort, Malfurion. She shook her head. He was going to be difficult. Ever since he had been captured by Xavius, and lost Cenarius to the Emerald Nightmare, Malfurion had not been the same. She scoffed. The same as when? As he was before the War of the Ancients? It was more than ten lifetimes ago when they had last basked in their love, respect and admiration for each other.

Too much had happened, too many demands outside of themselves had torn them apart. Now, they were married in name only; fighting their own battles, pursuing their own separate loyalties, seeing each so rarely she had begun to forget him. She lifted an eyebrow. Perhaps he felt the same about her. Her heart clenched, the thought wounding her. So, there was still something in her heart for him. A fragment, at least.

Yet, what she needed to ask of him today would test their relationship beyond anything which had come before. Perhaps today would be the day they would part. Once more, her heart clenched. No.

She looked up at Elune, waxing full and pure in the lavender sky, and whispered a prayer, beseeching the Moon Goddess for her aid. "Please, Great Lady, guide me. Help me make Malfurion understand."

* * *

The portal's light coalesced around Tyrande, cocooning her in a seamless space of glowing white. She waited, impatient, as the transfer completed, moving her and her escort from Darnassus to Dalaran. Now she had made up her mind, she wanted to press on and reach Malfurion as soon as possible. But first, one thing must be done, just in case everything went wrong.

The white light suffused. They had arrived. The noise of Krasus's Landing reached Tyrande's senses first, followed by a riot of colour and movement. It materialised into a swarm of Alliance and Horde races, jostling and pushing each other as they bartered with the various Flight Masters for rides into the Broken Isles. Her saber cat mount snarled, disliking the chaos.

Compared to the steady calm of Darnassus, the transition _was_ jarring. Her mount bared her fangs at the motley crowd of adventurers and opportunists loitering around the portal's exit. Tyrande suppressed a smile as a cluster of goblins scuttled out of the way, dragging their bulging bags of bizarre wares behind them. How she disliked that race, so destructive and greedy.

"Good girl," she murmured, patting the cat's shoulder.

Flanked by her Moon Guard, Tyrande guided her mount through the throng to the grand staircase of the Violet Citadel, home of the Council of the Kirin Tor. She rode up the stairs into the Council Chamber, ignoring the outraged murmurs of the younger mages. Clearly they had no idea who she was. Tyrande shook her head, Azeroth had changed so much, to think after all she had done, the day would come when she would not be recognised on sight.

A crash made her glance to the side. Several mages hurried to collect a stack of fallen books and place them back onto the table, reprimanding a red-faced female apprentice for her carelessness. Tyrande pressed on, longing to return to sacred peace and order of Darnassus; humans were so noisy. So tiresome. She passed through the grand arch, glowing with arcane runes into the Citadel's Inner Sanctum. Khadgar turned, his eyebrows lifted, betraying his surprise, though he quickly concealed it. He left the others to continue examining a text floating in the air. He crossed the room, and bowed.

"My Lady Tyrande, you honour us with your presence."

Tyrande didn't bother to dismount, she didn't intend to stay long. "Archmage Khadgar, I should like to speak with you. Alone." She caught the quirk of his brow, and the sharp look he received from Archmage Modera. Tyrande tilted her head, acknowledging her. Modera dipped her chin in return, her expression, as always, enigmatic.

Khadgar muttered a quick spell. An opaque bubble sprang up, enclosing them. Cerulean blue runes cascaded down its sides. Tyrande found the effect pleasing. She caught Khadgar's eyes.

"I have little time. You are the only one I can trust with what I am about to tell you. Illidan lives again."

An ornate chair appeared behind Khadgar. He sank down upon it, pale.

"No. It cannot be. The Na'aru Xe'ra, told me just yesterday we still had time to stop Gul'dan from bringing Illidan back." He looked down at his hands, clenching into fists. "Where is he?"

"The Twisting Nether."

Khadgar stared at Tyrande, disbelieving. "My Lady, you must be mistaken. No one is able to contact the living from the Nether. It is—"

"Nevertheless, it is so. I did not endure a portal transition to debate this point with you. Accept what I am saying as fact, since you have no other choice. You were not with him. I was."

Khadgar's lips thinned, but he nodded. Tyrande's mount stretched, and yawned, oblivious to the runes, and the bubble. Tyrande pressed on.

"I must go to him, and support him in his fight against Gul'dan. I need you to arrange for me to meet with Xe'ra. I am not sure how to enter the Nether while I am alive, but if any being knows the answer to this question, it will be her."

The chair vanished as Khadgar came to his feet, astonished. "My Lady, the Twisting Nether is the realm of disconnected souls, it would take the power of a god, or even a titan for a living soul to bypass those boundaries. And . . . even if Xe'ra were to know of a way in, you may become trapped there forever. Drifting, alone and conscious, neither dead or alive, for eternity." He shuddered, his abhorrence palpable. "It is the worst fate imaginable. No. I cannot be a part of this. Not even for you. It is too dangerous."

Tyrande pushed aside her rising qualms, his words and demeanour had struck a raw nerve. In her most private thoughts, she had wondered the same herself. But what was her life against all those of Azeroth? If she did nothing, they would all be vanquished. There was no alternative. She continued, softening her voice.

"Illidan cannot do this alone. If we leave him, just like all the other times we have done before, Gul'dan will win, and Illidan will become the avatar of Sargeras. Illidan alone stands against the Legion. He can break them from within, if we help him. If we don't, it is just a matter of time before Azeroth will fall under his command."

Khadgar blinked, taken aback. "But why must it be you? What can you do that one of the Archmages who are familiar with the Nether, could not? Kalec would be a better choice, by any account."

Tyrande stroked her mount's shoulder, thinking of how Illidan had looked at her, his eyes his own again, not the horrible burned-out ones filled with demonic light. Her heart skipped a beat. What was happening to her? What had passed between them that one time during the War of the Ancients was a mistake, long buried and forgotten. She pushed the memory aside, and met Khadgar's eyes.

"Because Illidan needs the Light. As her High Priestess, I am able to bring the Light of Elune to him and protect him with it, for as long as I am able. And . . . with me there, he will not be alone as Gul'dan preys upon him. In that place, it counts for much."

"I assume you have not yet told Malfurion of your intentions?"

Tyrande shook her head, unwilling to speak of it.

Khadgar's eyebrow quirked. "He will never agree. He has never forgiven Illidan for his betrayal at Nordrassil, nor his multitude of crimes which came after. To tell Malfurion of your plans while the Emerald Dream is turned to Nightmare, and his mentor Cenarius remains on the brink of death is a dangerous path." Khadgar paused, glancing back in the direction of the others. "I beg you, reconsider. Let the Council deliberate on this matter, if we had some time, we could make a projection into the Nether and find Illidan. Perhaps there are spells which could be woven using the energy of the time streams. I'm certain Chromie would—"

"Enough. It is not Malfurion's decision, it is mine. Neither do we have the luxury of time for the Council to confer and deliberate. I must go to Illidan. Tomorrow, at the latest. You do not know what Gul'dan is doing to him. I do. Illidan will not last much longer."

Khadgar sighed. "So be it. But I will not accept there is not more I can do to aid you."

Tyrande eyed Khadgar. "There is another matter, equally important, which I need you to address while I am away."

"Anything."

"Illidan's body is in the Tomb of Sargeras, in the Chamber of the Eye. You need to take it out of Gul'dan's hands."

Khadgar took a step back, uneasy. "Ah. That could take some time. We are still trying to gather the Pillars together, and there is some dissention between the factions of the Broken Isles, it is difficult to bring them together to face a single purpose. It is much to ask," he shook his head, resigned. "Politics. It always comes down to politics. This matter between Greymane and Sylvanas . . . it has greatly complicated our situation."

Tyrande held up her hand. "None of their petty quarrels will amount to anything more than dust should we fail Illidan. Without him, we will all fall, every man, woman, and child. It is your job to convince them of this. I am depending on you. Send a message when Xe'ra is ready to meet me. I will not keep her waiting." She turned her mount toward the exit. "Farewell Khadgar, and may Elune grant us the chance to meet again under better circumstances."

The bubble surrounding them dissipated, taking the cascading runes with it. The noise of humanity once more assaulted Tyrande's ears. She nodded to her Moon Guard. She had done all she could here. It was time to enter the Nightmare and find her consort.

* * *

Led by two Keepers of the Grove, Tyrande made her way cautiously along a cleansed tunnel into the heart of the Nightmare. To either side, beyond the reassuring glow of healthy green, the Emerald Dream's corruption pulsated, the blackened trees twisting in agony, a red viscous fluid seeping from their bark. Tyrande wrinkled her nose, the fluid's scent was complex, a combination of rotting mageroyal, over-ripe peaches and something else, something foul. Ah, yes, that was it, the stink of a satyr's den. She shuddered and hurried on, grateful she did not have fight her way in.

Ahead, soft green light, welcoming and warm filtered from the end of the tunnel. The Keepers lowered their heads, so their antlers would not entangle in the overhanging growth. She followed them down the rocky slope into a protected glade. In its centre, Malfurion stood with his back to her, keeping vigil over Cenarius, who lay limp upon a bed of flowers and sweet grasses. Dryads and treants surrounded the fallen Lord of the Forest, channelling a multitude of healing spells into him.

Tyrande approached Malfurion quietly, not wishing to distract him from his work. A rejuvenation spell, his most powerful one. Cenarius didn't respond. Tyrande arched an eyebrow, astonished. Malfurion staggered back, exhaustion etching his rugged features. She moved aside, stepping on a twig. He glanced up, sharp, irritated; his expression softening when he realised who had disturbed him. He held out his hand to her.

"My love, you came to me. I could use your assistance, now more than ever."

Riding out a surge of guilt, Tyrande took his hand and joined him. She looked at Cenarius, her heart aching. The demi-god lay limp, his massive body, half-stag, half night-elf sprawled sideways. He should never have come to such a state. Cenarius was so good, so wise. So kind. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked them back, and forced herself to watch the labours of the others.

Life energy continued to pour into Cenarius from the dryads and treants, but despite the enormous amount of healing—enough to revive a dragon—he remained the same. She delved into his spirit searching for the reason. She drew back, shuddering. He was on the brink of death. He barely breathed. She turned to Malfurion, who waited, watching her.

She shook her head. "He needs more than healing. He needs hope. Without it, all you can do is keep him from death. But for how long—"

Malfurion turned away. He crossed the glade to a small crystalline pool. Little golden wisps danced across its surface. He stood, his arms folded across his chest, staring into the distance, his lips pressed together. She followed him, and touched his arm.

"Malfurion?"

He didn't look at her. "You did not come into the Nightmare to support me, did you? Even after everything I have endured, I still nurtured the hope you might put me first, for once. What a fool I am," he scoffed, kicking a stone into the pool. "It has always been about you, hasn't it? Just as when Xavius captured me, instead of helping me, you chose to protect your precious Temple instead. Do you have any idea how it felt to see you turn and ride away? I went into the Nightmare with your rejection as my last memory."

Tyrande drew back. His bitterness was palpable. But she had had no choice when he had been taken. How she had longed to follow him, but she had to fulfill her sworn duty to Elune first. They had lost Ysera that day, when Tyrande had had to kill the corrupted Dragon Aspect herself. So much had gone wrong since the Legion's return, and now this, her own consort turning against her. She drew breath, there was no point in delaying.

"I came to tell you I must go away . . . there is a chance I may never come back."

Malfurion turned, his heavy brows lowering. "I forbid you to enter the Nightmare, it will consume you. Even after having disappointing me so much, I could not lose you too."

She bristled at his authoritarian tone, at his arrogant assumption he knew her intentions. He had always been so, though in the last years she had found her patience with this trait of his wearing thin. She concentrated on watching the fish darting back and forth in the clear waters of the pool. She would not let him provoke her. They could not quarrel, not now when so much was at stake.

"Not the Nightmare. The Twisting Nether."

He stared at her as though she had lost her mind. "How?"

Tyrande opened her mouth to answer but he shook his head. He held up his hand, stopping her. "No, that is not the important question. If you are here, then you have managed to find a way. The real question is why. Tell me this, because I have a suspicion, and by all the Aspects, I hope I am wrong."

"Illidan is—"

He exhaled, angry, his expression turning rigid. "I knew it. While I was in the Nightmare I saw Gul'dan pulling pieces of Illidan's soul to him from the Nether." Malfurion met her eyes, his menacing, dangerous. "But why you, Tyrande?"

Tyrande fought for calm, this was going much worse than even her darkest expectations. The Nightmare had changed Malfurion, he might have escaped when Xavius was killed, but something remained, a darkness she had never seen in Malfurion before. She chose her next words with care. "Illidan contacted me from within the Nether. His call was strong enough to attract my spirit to his in a dream."

Malfurion actually rolled his eyes. Tyrande had never seen him do that before. He laughed, sharp, bitter. "So one request from The Betrayer, and you drop everything to run to him—even to the risk of your eternal soul."

Uncertain, Tyrande reached out to Malfurion, he stepped back, out of her reach, his eyes veiled. She dropped her hand, his rejection cutting her deep. "No. It is not like that. It would mean much to me if you could try to understand, please, hear me out. He called to me because he needs the Light of Elune to help him fight against Gul'dan until his body can be retrieved from the Chamber of the Eye—"

Malfurion scoffed. "The Chamber of the Eye? Do you even realise what an impossible task that is at this point in time? The Pillars must be collected and assembled before anyone can breach the walls of Sargeras's Tomb; the Alliance and the Horde are at each other's throats over the death of Varian and the Emerald Dream is crumbling." Malfurion flung his arm out in the direction of the group of wood folk surrounding the fallen Guardian. "Look at Cenarius, a demi-god. If he cannot withstand the Legion, what hope do we have? We have lost. Sooner or later, Azeroth will fall."

Tyrande gaped at her consort. "Who are you? You are not Malfurion. He would never speak like this."

Malfurion grabbed her shoulders, his grip hurting her. "What do you want from me? My blessing for you to run after my brother, a demon, and protect him with the Light of the Goddess? Where were you when I needed you? Tyrande, you are breaking my heart. It is too much. No matter what good you believe you are doing, if you do this thing, I will no longer be able to remain with you."

Anger poured into Tyrande. How dare he. She shrugged his hands off her shoulders. "So it comes to this, an ultimatum? You or Azeroth? Then I choose Azeroth, it is my home, and I will fight for it to my last breath."

He backed away, shaking his head. "I should not have forced you to choose. Of course you would choose Azeroth. As I would have, not so long ago," he sighed, and sank down onto a boulder. He looked up, his anger gone. "I am just so tired. It feels like I have spent my life fighting. I want it to stop. I saw too many things in the Nightmare. I saw the Legion win, led by a new and unstoppable dreadlord. I have reconciled myself to it, and have chosen the path of living in peace until we are vanquished."

Tyrande sank down beside Malfurion, she touched his thigh, tentative. "The Nightmare is a place of fear and lies. You saw one possible end, but we can also prevail. My love, Azeroth needs you. I need you. Illidan needs you. We can still stop the Legion."

Malfurion brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. Tyrande shivered. How long had it been since they had been intimate? Not since his first defeat of Xavius, during Azeroth's short time of peace. She thought of their wedding night. It had been magical. She smiled, soft, at the memory.

Malfurion brushed her cheek, tender. "Stay out of the Nether. Illidan has ever been The Betrayer, you cannot trust him. He will betray you, leaving you trapped forever in the Nether. I beg you, do not go. If not for my sake, for your own."

Tyrande caught him looking at her, his expression flickering between hope and fear. She tried again. "The dreadlord you saw was Illidan. Gul'dan is bringing to life a new avatar for Sargeras, using Illidan's body. Your own brother has been chosen by Sargeras to destroy our home. No matter what Illidan is guilty of, he does not deserve this. I watched him endure unimaginable suffering to resist Gul'dan. He suffers for us, to protect us from himself. He will fight to his last, but he cannot do it alone."

Malfurion said nothing. His gaze lingered on a pair of golden wisps hovering over a lily pad, circling each other, caught in a dance of their own making.

He drew a deep breath, and let it out, slow. "Perhaps you are right in what you are doing. Ever since the Nightmare, my path—once so easy to see—is no longer clear. Everything is clouded, difficult. And this accursed fatigue, it never ends. Perhaps it is why I cannot heal Cenarius. Let me come and dine with you tonight. Since it seems you cannot be convinced otherwise, I would rather not waste what little time we have left together."

Tyrande smiled. "Only if you come to me as you were on our wedding, before your transformation into an Archdruid."

He blurred for a heartbeat, transforming into a night elf. Much better. This was her Malfurion. His other form, an enhanced hybrid being with stormcrow wings, stag antlers, bear paws, and the padded feet of a cat was the Lord of the Night Elves, and had no place in her sleeping room.

He stood, and lowered his hand to hers. "You know this is only an illusion, a memory. No one else can see me like this, only you. I lost the ability to shapeshift long ago. Thrall was kind to teach me how to alter perceptions."

Tyrande rose up, and pressed her lips to his. "Have you forgotten? I asked him to teach you."

Malfurion caught her in his arms, and returned her kiss. "It feels so good to hold you. When I was trapped in the Nightmare, it was the thought of you I clung to. You kept me from madness."

Tyrande lay her head against his shoulder, savouring his warmth. "I never stopped thinking about you, Malfurion. Ever."

The wood folk cried out, distressed, interrupting them. Malfurion turned away, abrupt, letting Tyrande go. "Cenarius! I must go to him. I will see you tonight. No matter what I will be there. I swear it."

He left her, and strode back to the others, the illusion fading, the Lord of the Elves once more taking her consort's place.

Tyrande waited for him to look back, but he did not, he made his way into the centre of the group, his voice rising above the others, filled with desperation as he cast one healing spell after another. Resigned, Tyrande turned back to the waiting Keepers, and followed them back into the tunnel.

She tried to be grateful for the brief reprieve they had shared, but somehow she could not. Already she felt the taint of bitterness overshadowing her thoughts; despite his promise, she knew Malfurion wouldn't come to her tonight. Just like it had always been, someone else needed him more.


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

* * *

In a burst of blue light, Khadgar's messenger teleported back to Dalaran. In his wake, a faint outline of an arcane rune hung shimmering in the air. Tyrande touched the rune. It collapsed into itself, an ephemeral thing. In a blink it was gone, leaving behind nothing but the memory of the messenger's visit.

Xe'ra had agreed to see Tyrande; in fact, the Na'aru wished to see her immediately. The messenger had asked Tyrande to wait, a portal would be opened for her to travel to the place where Xe'ra resided. A tingle crept over Tyrande, to be in the presence of one of the Na'aru, an ancient being of pure light. What a privilege.

She thought of Khadgar, and what he must be enduring from the Council. The poor man. He would be hard pressed to make them believe her news. The night elves and the Kirin Tor were only just beginning to trust each other. But good, reliable Khadgar had wasted no time. The messenger had been waiting for Tyrande on her return from the Nightmare. She wished she could have had time to change her gown, Xe'ra deserved to see Tyrande at her best. She shook her head, catching herself. Such small matters were of no importance when so much was at stake. Certainly, Xe'ra would not concern herself with such things.

A low hum emanated from behind her, she turned. The air quivered, blurring, becoming like water, surrounded by a halo of white light. The portal's surface cleared, glimmering, waiting.

She stepped through, her transition into a sumptuous room overlooking the spires of Dalaran instantaneous. She smiled, rueful. Khadgar was spoiling her, making her transition so quick, he knew how much she hated portals. She should have treated him better. He was not like the others. A faint chiming, soft and melodic caught her attention. The portal vanished. She turned, and caught her breath.

Xe'ra floated above her, a being of purest light. Underneath her elaborate crown, she looked down upon Tyrande, her wings rotating around her torso, where her light was brightest.

Blinded, Tyrande fell to her knees, and bowed her head. A voice, beautiful, calming and patient entered her mind.

 _You wish to know how to enter the Twisting Nether while you are still living, so you might carry the Light of Elune to the one called Illidan, and protect him in his fight against the Legion._

The Na'aru fell silent. Tyrande waited. The silence lengthened. Perhaps Xe'ra wanted her to answer.

Tyrande nodded, though she kept her eyes on the smooth silver tiles beneath her. "I promised him I would return."

Xe'ra said nothing for a long while. Tyrande wondered if she had offended the Na'aru. A sensation rippled through her. She could feel her thoughts being read, her motivations and intentions laid bare. She gritted her teeth, enduring the invasion. Whatever it would take. Xe'ra's voice returned, soft, compelling.

 _If you do this thing, you will suffer terrible loss. There is a chance Illidan will survive without your aid if his body is retrieved in time. Would you not rather remain and lead the fight to breach the Tomb of Sargeras?_

Tyrande closed her eyes. She wanted more than anything to be relieved of this terrible burden, but she had made a promise. Illidan was counting on her. He was waiting for her. She could not leave him there, suffering while the Alliance and Horde bickered amongst themselves, wasting time.

She glanced up. "What loss will I suffer?"

Again, silence. Tyrande shifted, uneasy. She sensed the Na'aru's disapproval.

 _In these dangerous times, strong leaders are needed more than ever. You belong in Azeroth, Daughter of Elune, leading your people. Illidan's path is his own. His choices have led him to where he is now._

 _The races of Azeroth must face their own challenge: to overcome their differences and ally themselves together as one against the Legion. It is unfair of you to leave this task to Khadgar, when it has been you who has seen what Gul'dan is preparing to do._

Tyrande felt the sting of humiliation. Instead of answering her question, the Na'aru had chastised her. Tyrande stood up. "No. This time, a greater duty compels me. I will not abandon Illidan. The risk is too great to wait for the others to come to his aid."

Xe'ra's wings continued to rotate. Her light dimmed. Tyrande wondered if the Na'aru had cut her off. She waited, uneasy. After a long while, the Na'aru's light returned bright once more.

 _Very well. There is only one powerful enough to send you there. You must ask Elune for her help. Go to Winterspring, to Elune's Gem. She will answer your call._

The hum returned and a portal opened once more. On its opposite side, the serene quiet of her reception room waited. She stepped towards it.

 _Tyrande. Take some time to reconsider. The cost will be too great._

Tyrande hesitated and looked back at the Na'aru. What was Xe'ra trying to tell her? She sensed a subtle change in the air. Was Xe'ra . . . sad? Tyrande thought it through. Elune had created the Na'aru. Did Xe'ra fear for her creator? But how could Elune be affected by Tyrande's decision?

Xe'ra's light dimmed, her wings slowing their rotation. They came to a halt, and Xe'ra's light vanished, leaving behind an empty shell. Shadows filled the room where her light had just been. Tyrande felt real fear. Whatever had just happened was a warning, but a warning she did not understand. She plunged into the portal, unnerved. The sooner she reached Winterspring, the better.

Elune would know the truth. Whether she would tell Tyrande was another question. There was only one way to find out.

* * *

Malfurion was waiting for Tyrande. He turned, startled by her sudden appearance. As the portal closed, she caught him glance into the place she had just left. Xe'ra glowed with light once more. Astonishment filled his eyes, but he said nothing.

Grateful for his silence, Tyrande sank onto one of the cushioned benches. He brought her a cup of wine. She thanked him and sipped, eyeing him. He had come to her as he promised, after all, in the guise of the Malfurion she knew and loved from so long ago. Despite her inner turmoil, she found a smile for him.

"How fares Cenarius?"

Malfurion shook his head. "He is the same. Hamuul Runetotem brought several druids from the Cenarion Circle, he has promised to change healers every few hours. I feel safer leaving Cenarius's side with Hamuul there."

Tyrande nodded, pleased the others had come to aid Malfurion, despite the pressures mounting daily against the druids from the Nightmare.

He gestured at the empty space where the portal had been. "Are you going to tell me what that was about?"

Tyrande swallowed her wine, its rich taste turning bitter in her mouth as she recalled the Na'aru's final words. "I asked Khadgar to arrange for me to meet with Xe'ra about Illidan. She has sent me onwards to Winterspring, to Elune's Altar."

Malfurion's face darkened. "I did not expect Elune to help you. It is against everything She stands for."

Tyrande stood up and paced to the balcony overlooking the Temple Square. Willow trees dotted the open space, their long blue branches drifted downwards, rippling in the warm evening breeze. Two lavender leaves fell and spiralled down into the empty square. She watched them float through the air, chasing and circling until they were caught in an updraught and flew away into the sky. She wished she was one of those leaves and Malfurion the other. She sighed.

He touched her shoulder. "Tyrande?"

She turned and let him enclose her against his chest, warm and solid. "I never wanted this. Do you remember how much I resisted when I had to take the mantle of High Priestess of Elune? I did not want the role, the responsibility. It was forced upon me. Ever since I have tried my best to do what is right and be a good leader. Xe'ra, she . . . " Tyrande stopped, humiliated.

"She what?"

"She chastised me, saying I should reconsider and remain here, to not abandon my people, or my responsibilities. She said Illidan's fight is his own, brought on by his own actions." Tyrande felt Malfurion's hold on her tighten. He kissed the top of her head, but said nothing. She knew he was waiting, able to sense when she had more to say. She drew breath, seeking the courage to confess the rest, afraid that by saying it, she would make it real. Malfurion stroked her hair, gentle. She looked up, and met his eyes, seeing his love for her in them. The words came out, all at once, before she could stop herself.

"She said something else. She said I would suffer terrible loss, but when I asked her what the loss would be, she did not answer. Before I left, her light went out, and she fell silent," Tyrande shuddered. "It was . . . ominous."

"And now, what will you do?"

Tyrande extracted herself from his embrace, and went to Iasar, splayed on a rug, playing with a soft woollen toy in the shape of a rabbit. She stroked the kitten, her heart aching. She would miss her companion. What if she never came back? Her eyes filled with tears. She sensed Malfurion moving closer, uncertain.

She looked up. "I will dine with my husband. Before I go to sleep, I will ask Elune for guidance. When I wake, I will have my answer."

Malfurion knelt beside her, taking her hands into his. "I will stay with you. Nothing could keep me from you on such a night as this."

Tears of gratitude came to her eyes. She didn't deserve him. "I would like that very much. Hold me, my love. Just hold me."

* * *

Tyrande dreamed of Illidan writhing in agony, the fel tethers gnawing at him, relentless. In a brief moment of respite, he looked up, right at her. His eyes, dull with pain, filled with hope. He reached out to her, trembling.

"Tyrande?"

The tethers came again, passing right through her. She _felt_ them, as a thousand knives sliced through her, laced with poison, burning hot and searing cold; laden with hopelessness. Darkness snaked through her and she tasted evil incarnate. How could Illidan bear it, even for a moment?

He screamed, thrashing, the tethers pulled his arms and legs taut, spread eagling him, holding him steady. A much larger tether rammed into his chest, probing, digging. He panted, unable to even scream. It yanked free. Horrified, Tyrande watched as it writhed away, carrying a much larger piece of Illidan's soul with it.

The tethers let go, and he hung, exhausted, shuddering in the Void. She drifted towards him, staring at the damage Gul'dan had wrought. Dozens of tiny points of light shone through Illidan, piercing his chest, legs and arms. A Voice filled her mind, like a dagger across glass.

 _All of this can end. Come to me. Enter the portal, and live again._

Illidan shook his head, crying out in denial. He crawled away, his hands pressed against his ears, trying to escape. The Voice chuckled, cold.

 _As you like._

Another tether came at Illidan, burrowing into the back of his neck, shoving its way up into his brain. It juddered and another piece of Illidan tore away. He convulsed, his limbs twitching. Tyrande tried to channel the Light into him. Nothing happened. In the dream state, she was helpless. She could do nothing more than observe.

She touched his brow. Her fingers slid through him. His eyes opened. His voice ragged with pain, he gasped, "Please. The Light. Before it is too late."

Tyrande woke. Behind her, Malfurion shifted in his sleep, and pulled her tighter against him, possessive. She thought of Illidan, trapped in torment, fighting—while she lay warm and comfortable in her bed—to protect Azeroth.

She turned and looked at Malfurion, lost in sleep. They had dined nestled together on a thick rug before a brazier cracking with blue flames, sharing the same platter and cup. They had kissed, their love rekindling, a slow burn, awakening after its long dormancy. His eyes burning with need, he had carried her to her bed and made love to her, just as he had done on their wedding night. She shivered, remembering how he had held her against him and whispered her name. She had not felt this close to him in thousands of years. She traced her finger along the plane of his cheek. Why did it have to be now, just when they had found each other again?

She pulled her hand away. Elune had given her answer. The Na'aru was wrong, Tyrande could not stay and hide in Azeroth, not even for the worthy cause of leading her people against the Legion. She glimpsed Iasar sitting on the floor watching her, forlorn. Tyrande's heart clenched. Iasar, ever quick to sense a change in her mistress's state of mind had already comprehended something terrible was going to happen.

Tyrande reached over, and stroked her companion's nose. Iasar crept closer, uncertain, emitting a little cry, a question. Tyrande slipped from Malfurion's embrace and left the warmth of the blankets, drawing Iasar into her lap. She kissed her companion, over and over, her tears wetting the kitten's head.

"I'm sorry little one. But I must do this one last thing to protect our home—" movement from the bed made her look up. Malfurion pushed out from under the blankets and joined her on the floor. He touched her face, tender. She met his eyes, and saw his resignation, his grief, and underneath all of it, his fear.

"Somehow I will come back to you," Tyrande whispered. "I promise."

He shook his head, hushing her and took her in his arms. She clung to him, holding Iasar against her, her heart overflowing with love. Her family. Her home. She would not lose it. She would return to them. Victorious.

* * *

Atop her gryphon wheeling high above the snowy glades of Winterspring, Tyrande searched the horizon—past the towering pink and blue crowns of the frozen trees—for her destination. There. Between the woods, she glimpsed the ruins of an ancient temple, its crumbling walls and pillars huddling together against the icy winds. Her gryphon landed, its vast wings pumping, on a ledge halfway up the side of the mountain range. New fallen snow gusted up into the air, blinding Tyrande for a heartbeat.

Brushing the fat flakes of snow from her cloak, she dismounted. Ahead, the sacred Altar of Elune, protected for thousands of years by Elune's children, the Wildkin, lay waiting. The Wildkin eyed her, suspicious, as they left their caves, and gathered one by one around the Altar, their feathers rustling, defensive.

Another gryphon came down onto the ledge beside her, its talons scrabbling to find purchase on the loose surface. Malfurion brought it to a halt and dismounted. He joined her, his gloved hand finding hers under the folds of her cloak.

"Do you want me to speak to them?" he asked, nodding at the enormous owl-men watching them, hostile.

Tyrande shook her head as she scanned the assembled creatures for their leader. "No. I think it is best if I approach them alone."

She stepped forward, her booted foot plunging knee deep in the fresh snow. Malfurion's grip tightened, holding her back. "These are wild creatures," he murmured. "Dangerous and suspicious of any not their own. I can speak their language, I can try to make them understand."

Tyrande pulled her hand free, and touched Malfurion's face. "If Elune wants me to do this, she will tell them to let me pass. If not, then I shall be able to go no further."

Malfurion nodded, wary, his gaze remaining on the creatures hissing at them, their feathers bristling. "Then, forgive me for hoping they do not let you through. If they attack, I will root them. But do not waste any time in fleeing. Their magic is powerful, and the roots will not hold for long. I will be right behind you. Tyrande—"

He pulled her back to him and brushed his lips against hers, soft. "Even though I have not been a good husband to you, please know my love for you is endless. If Elune takes you away from me, please, no matter what happens, know I will never stop loving you. I will be waiting for you. No matter how long it takes. I will be here."

Her throat tight, Tyrande backed away from him, her hand still in his, one more step and only the tips of their fingers touched. Another step and she was alone. He let her go, anguished.

She turned. The owl-men waited, their diurnal eyes unblinking. She took a step toward the leader, standing in front of the Altar, protective. A cry rose up from the creatures, piercing, shrill. A warning. She knew enough to understand their intent.

 _Stay away, Stranger._

Tyrande halted and lifted her hands to them, palms upward. The cries intensified. The leader shook his staff, menacing her. A tremor of fear slid through her, these creatures were protected by Elune, she could not harm them. But they were permitted to tear her to pieces. Only those chosen by Elune could approach her Altar. Perhaps she had it wrong after all, perhaps she had led herself to believe her purpose was greater than it was. Or perhaps, Illidan was somehow deceiving her, and it was a trap. A dark thought slid into her mind: maybe the one who had called to her wasn't Illidan at all, but an illusion of the Legion, a trap to catch her and use her against her own people. She glanced back at Malfurion.

He shook his head, tense. It wasn't working. She sighed, relieved. It must have been a trick. Xe'ra had sent Tyrande to this place, to test her against Elune, knowing if Tyrande had been deceived, she would never be able to—

The hissing stopped, abrupt. Silence fell. Several warbles broke the quiet, soft and reverent. The wind ceased. Stillness and peace settled over Tyrande, as a beam of Light cascaded down from the heavens and surrounded her; blue, cool, and filled with power. She drank it in, breathless. Elune.

The owl-men parted, opening a way for her to approach the Altar. As she passed them, bathed in the light of the Goddess, they knelt, their plumage flattened, respectful. The leader stepped aside, lowering his staff, and bowed low. Tyrande nodded at it, her emotions tangled. So it had not been a deception after all, which meant it was all true. Illidan was fighting, alone, against the Legion.

She stopped before the Altar's massive surface, a single slab of stone, waist high, rimed with ice, lay atop two supporting ashlars. Above, a blue gem, bigger than Tyrande hung in the air, silent, dull. A tendril of light slipped from the halo of light surrounding Tyrande and slid into the gem. It flickered and came to life, rotating, reminding Tyrande of the wings of the Na'aru. Shafts of pure blue light streamed away, far into the distance. Elune's Light would be able to be seen for hundreds of miles. Tyrande staggered back, shielding her eyes. The Light was far too bright to look at.

The owl-men trilled, filled with joy. Tyrande sensed it had been thousands of years since Elune had communicated through the gem. A voice, perfect, eldritch, yet soft and pleasing echoed through the air.

"Tyrande, daughter of my heart, a great task awaits you. You must help the one called Illidan stand against the Enemy of all life."

Tyrande knelt, overcome, only a chosen few had heard the Goddess speak, she could not believe she was worthy enough to be one of them. Trembling, she answered, "Great Lady, I am ready to do what is being asked of me, but I cannot do this alone, I will need your Light to protect Illidan . . . as much as I can carry."

The gem's light sparkled against the snow as it rotated, making the ice crystals glimmer and dance.

"Though your heart is pure and your will is strong, you will not be able to carry what is needed to help Illidan. What is required to aid him in this fight will require more than this. Much more."

The gem continued to rotate but the Goddess said nothing. Tyrande waited, uncertain. Was Elune suggesting Tyrande find others who could join her? How many would it take? Hundreds? Thousands? She bit her lip, troubled. Even if she could find those who would be willing to take the risk of never returning, how would she recruit them in the short amount of time Illidan had left? She slumped in the snow, disheartened. She had come all this way, for nothing.

Despite its blinding brightness, Tyrande lifted her eyes up to the gem. "My Lady Elune, how many others do you need?"

The gem pulsated, its surface rippling with deeper blues as the Goddess laughed. Her laughter cascaded over Tyrande, musical, soothing. "Daughter, you misunderstand me. Just as Illidan is to be a conduit for Sargeras, you will need to be a conduit for me. It is the only way to defeat the enemy."

Tyrande lunged her feet, astonished. "I am to be your avatar?"

"It is the only way you can enter The Twisting Nether. Through this gem, your soul will entwine with me. I will be able to protect both you and Illidan this way."

Tyrande staggered, overwhelmed. She glanced back at Malfurion, still standing where she left him, his expression stricken. She shook her head, this was far greater than anything she imagined. She was to be a part of an ongoing ancient battle, between a god and a titan, acted out between her and Illidan. It was too much, she wasn't ready for this. She shuffled backward, her calves carving a trough into the snow.

"My Lady, I cannot. I am not strong enough. Please, there must be another."

The gem's Light glided over Tyrande, warm and reassuring. Elune's voice came again, gentle.

"There is no other. It can only be you. I will protect you, for as long as I am able."

Tyrande hesitated, what did she mean by that? A memory tugged. She searched through the chaos of her thoughts, sensing it was important. An image filled her mind. The Na'aru's light dimming, until it winked out, leaving the space filled with dullness and shadow. Tyrande's thoughts skidded to a halt. Xe'ra's warning. It had been about Elune, after all.

Elune's gem rotated above the Altar, patient. Every novice Moon Priestess learned on her first day that Elune's Light was generated within the goddess herself, but it was not an infinite source, and could be depleted, thus balance was always important. But Tyrande had seen how fast Illidan had used up her Light, she would have to channel Light into him continuously. How long could the Goddess sustain the demands they would put upon her? Tyrande thought again of the extinguished Na'aru. Elune could be destroyed. A goddess. Horrified, Tyrande reached for the Altar and gripped onto its sides, swaying. She felt sick. How could Elune even consider such a thing?

"No. I will not be a part of this. There must be another way."

"There is."

Tyrande waited, holding her breath, hopeful. Yes. Anything but this. Anything.

Elune continued, filled with sadness. "We leave Illidan to fight alone. If he fails, all life will be extinguished, not just here, but in all the worlds, until the gods and even time herself is consumed—until there is Nothing."

Tyrande choked, and a tear slipped free, hot against her cold cheek. There was no choice. Someone touched her shoulder, she jumped, frightened. But it was not one of the owl-men, it was her husband, Malfurion, his eyes dark with misgiving. He took hold of her hand and squeezed it. He gazed at the gem for a long time before addressing the Goddess, his voice rich and full of authority.

"I will go in Tyrande's stead. Illidan is my brother, after all. Although he has done great wrong in the past, he fights now for Azeroth and needs our help. It is my duty to protect him, not my wife's. I survived the Nightmare, I will survive the Nether."

In response, the gem brightened until it flared as bright as the heart of a new-born star. Tyrande shielded her eyes, shrinking back against Malfurion, putting herself between him and the Light. He should not have addressed Elune until the goddess spoke to him first.

Elune's voice cut through the air, sharp as glass. "Look into the Light and see the truth, Son of Cenarius."

Within the gem's center a smear of darkness bloomed, spreading outwards, consuming the Light. In the darkness, movement. Colours slid past, blue, green, red and gold. A planet came into view, lingering for a heartbeat before spiralling away.

Tyrande gaped. Elune had opened a portal into The Twisting Nether—a doorway to nowhere from the icy fastness of the mountains of Winterspring. The owl-men howled, fearful. Tyrande could feel her mind careening towards an edge, teetering on the brink of madness. It was one thing to see the Nether in a spirit state, but an entirely different thing to see it while awake and grounded in the world of the living.

She tore her gaze from it, forcing herself to look at the sky, the trees, the snow beneath her feet. A scream echoed across the ruins, filled with anguish. Tyrande couldn't stop herself. She lifted her eyes from the snow coating her boots to the endless, yawning Void. A little way in from the opening, Illidan thrashed, twisting, clawing at a massive, pulsating fel tether buried inside his torso, probing.

"No . . ." Malfurion whispered, horrified. He hauled himself up onto the Altar's slippery surface, shouting, "Brother! I am coming! You are not alone!"

The tether slid out, slow, grasping a piece of Illidan's heart. He spun away, sobbing as it pulled free, the violence of its exit brutal to witness. Blood sprayed out onto the Altar, Tyrande touched it. Illidan's blood, still warm, coated her gloved fingers. She held them up to Malfurion, as he moved toward the opening, cautious.

"Illidan bleeds for us."

Illidan's head lifted, slow. He shuddered, wrapping his arms around his ravaged torso. He turned, and drifted towards the portal. He brought his hand to the barrier. Unable to pass, he pressed his palm against it, as though against a window pane. Blood covered his arms, his legs, his face. His eyes, dark with untold agonies, met hers.

"Tyrande. It is too late. I waited as long as I could."

Malfurion moved in front of the portal, blocking Illidan's view. "It is not too late. Elune is here, I am here. We are going to help you."

Illidan shook his head. He coughed, hard. "Tyrande—"

"No. It is too dangerous. I will come to you, I will fight with you. Let me—"

Illidan roared, furious, and slammed his fist against the portal's surface. Stunned, Malfurion took a step back, his face ashen. Elune's voice came again, severe. "It can only be Tyrande. Illidan knows what he needs to stand against Gul'dan. You could only offer a trickle of what Tyrande can give him. No other has the connection to the Light she has. Malfurion, what you offer is noble, but in this matter you must stand aside. It must be her, or no one."

Tyrande looked up at Illidan, watching her, tormented. She lowered her gaze, shamed by her own selfish fears when he was suffering so much.

"Please," he whispered, ragged, "come to me, give me the strength to go on."

Her heart pounding, she climbed up onto the Altar and held out her hand to Malfurion to help her across. His chest heaving, he shook his head, unwilling, conflicted.

"For Azeroth," she murmured, holding her hand steady, waiting.

He cursed, angry, and grasped her hand, firm, bringing her to him. "My love—" the raw ache in his voice brought fresh tears to Tyrande's eyes. "Just live. That's all I ask. Live—and return to me."

Her throat so tight she could hardly breathe, Tyrande could only nod. She turned, and faced the portal. Illidan watched her, desperate with hope. She looked above the portal, into the Light, and nodded.

"Then it is time," Elune said. "To journey with me, you must leave your shell behind. While you are in the Nether, your body will sleep, deep in trance. You can only awaken when your soul rejoins your body."

Tyrande pressed her lips together, to stop their trembling. Tendrils extended outwards, snaking down and around her, weaving a complex web, criss-crossing until she found herself enclosed within a sphere of blue light. There was no going back now.

The sphere lifted, taking her with it. She drew a breath, astonished. This was different than levitation. She was completely weightless, she could feel nothing. She looked down at Malfurion, but he was not looking at her, he was kneeling and scooping up a body, limp, from the snowy crust lacing the Altar. She watched, horrified, as he rose up with her in his arms, sheltering her. A strong wind whipped his cloak, making it snap in the tumultuous air. He looked up. She pounded on the side of the sphere, panic taking hold of her.

"Malfurion! I am here!" But he could not see her. He stared at the sphere, unseeing, anguished. Another gust of wind sent his cloak streaming past him. He tightened his hold on her body and kissed her brow, tender. Tyrande screamed, desperate.

"Can you not hear me? That is not me, I am me. I am right—"

A shock shot through her chest, making every part of her tingle. She looked down. A tether of blue connected her to the sphere. Another jolt, stronger this time. She juddered, watching wide-eyed as the Light of the Goddess surged around the sphere and down the tether into her. So this was how it was to be done.

She hung, suspended within the sphere as Elune's Light trickled into her, slow at first, increasing little by little until it poured into her, a torrent, filling her until she could hold no more. Glowing with Light, she gasped, her eyes burning, filled with new vision.

She could see . . . everything. She cried out, exhilarated. This was more, so much more than anything she could ever have imagined. Her fear was fast becoming a distant memory. She longed to begin. The sphere floated level with the portal. Tyrande looked one last time at Malfurion, still clutching her body against his. Tears stained his face. She pressed her hand against the sphere willing him to see her. He could not.

"It is time, Daughter. The transition may be difficult."

A scream. Elune's. Or was it her own? Darkness. Spirals of light, chaos. All the dreams she had ever had merging into one, repeating over and over. She ran down a corridor. Malfurion chased her. He turned into a demon, and threw her into a pit. The pit became a garden. Her garden, filled with climbing roses. Iasar ran up to her, filled with joy. She caught the kitten and kissed her head. The kitten became limp in her arms, bloodied, her back legs crushed, shuddering in her death throes. She watched the light fade from her eyes. She cried out in denial, trying to heal her, but she had no magic left in her, she was extinguished, hollow, a shell.

Her garden disappeared, she stood atop a great citadel. Suramar. All around her suffering, devastation, death, destruction. Another demon, massive, his torso burning with fire approached. He picked her up, and held her suspended before his molten eyes. Iasar fell from her arms and tumbled to ground to die, alone. He smiled, dark, and stroked her face with a bloody talon. The tender act dissonant against the violence surrounding them. She trembled, terrified.

 _I have you now. Ah Elune. It has been a long wait. And now you are mine, bound to me, for eternity._

Within Tyrande's soul, the Goddess screamed. Tyrande pressed her hands to her ears, but the scream tore at her, until every part of her ached. She wept. Sargeras let them go, and they hurtled down, falling into infinity, as worlds and time passed them by, endless. Elune fell silent. Tyrande curled into herself, and knew nothing.

* * *

"Tyrande. Wake up."

A scream, male this time, pierced Tyrande's nightmare. She opened her eyes, slow. She had stopped falling. Still encased within the sphere, she turned. Illidan hung suspended outside of it, doubled over, groaning. In the distance a huge tether whipped away, bloody.

She floated over to him, and pressed her hands against the sphere. He bled from every part of his body. He was filled with holes, huge pieces of him were missing. Most of his heart was gone. She shuddered. "Illidan . . . "

He groaned, clutching his torso. "The Light—give it to me. I will not survive the next assault."

Tyrande didn't know what to do. She was locked inside a sphere, a prisoner to Elune's Light. How could she channel the Light through an impenetrable wall? She called out to Elune for her aid. Silence greeted her. She called again louder.

"Gul'dan comes again!" Illidan panted. "Hurry!"

She could see the tether, thrashing its way across the Void, malevolent, dark, twisted. She could sense the evil in it. It hurtled towards Illidan. He cried out, retreating, helpless. A jolt. Elune had returned. Tyrande cried out, desperate, frantic. The tether was almost upon them.

"Tell me what I must do!"

"Do not let the tether reach Illidan."

Tyrande threw herself in the tether's path. It slammed into the sphere. A flash of foul green slid over the sphere's surface. Tyrande tasted metal, and a spasm of pain washed over her. She grunted, and hit the opposite side of the sphere, hard.

"Quick, while there is time, before the next arrives. Illidan needs to make contact with me."

Tyrande hastened to push the sphere closer to Illidan. He half swam, half crawled to her, reaching out, his hand trembling. Tyrande recoiled. His fingertips glowed with fel energy. He touched the wall. Tyrande felt a surge flow through her, more powerful than even what she experienced at the Altar. She braced herself against the sides of the sphere, screaming as Elune's Light burned though her into Illidan. When it was over, she sagged against the sides, shuddering, weak. Elune's voice cut through the tatters of her mind, sharp, commanding.

"Another tendril comes, deflect it."

Tyrande shoved the tears from her eyes, and spun around searching for the thing. There. She hurtled into it, roaring with pain and fear. Another flash of green, another slam against the sphere. She turned, and found Illidan. He reached out to her, quaking. She stared, incredulous. After all the Light she had transferred to him, he had barely healed.

"More," he gasped. "I need more."

She went to him, and began the transfer again, her gown caught on fire, another replaced it, it too burned, turning to ash in the scorching Light. Another tether came. She took its blow, screaming as the fel washed over her. Dirty, then clean, until she didn't know what she was true any more. Over and over the dance of light and dark continued. Tyrande fought on, for Azeroth, for Illidan, for Malfurion, and now, for Elune.

No matter what the cost, Sargeras would not have her. Tyrande threw her head back as another course of Light pounded through her, her hair turning to flames of blue fire. She laughed, drunk with terror as she destroyed another tether, welcoming the pain of the Darkness within her prison of Light. Soon it became all she knew. All she lived for. It was a game, and one she would not lose.


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

* * *

Gul'dan leaned on his staff, eyeing the portal. Something was wrong. None of the tethers were returning to his staff. He looked around the dimly-lit cavernous space, searching for discrepancies. Nothing had changed in his ritual. All was as it should be. Within the thick black stone walls of the Chamber of the Eye, deep within the Tomb of Sargeras, the sacrifices continued, feeding the portal and Gul'dan's staff.

He looked over the fel-runed circle, glowing with lurid yellow-green light. Set in the centre of the Chamber, the newest group of Nightborne rebels—gathered and delivered by Suramar's Grand Magistrix Elisande—huddled together, frightened. He had long since tuned out their cries for mercy, the bribes, the offers of service. They had only one use, their souls would bring him Illidan's. He waited while three Eredar ripped two more souls free, and fed them into the portal. It flickered as the disembodied souls merged with it, sending shafts of dark green streaking across its inky, viscous surface. Gul'dan stroked his beard, narrowing his eyes as two more souls succumbed to the siphoning spells of the Eredar, the victims collapsing, shrunken, lifeless husks.

He scoffed at the cries of terror coming from those still awaiting their fate. How disposable they were. He rather enjoyed this use of his time, he had begun to fancy that with each miserable death, he cleansed Azeroth of a little more of its trash. He held up his staff, catching the souls of two more unwilling victims. He glared at the portal, waiting. Still nothing. He had sent at least three dozen tethers through. He wasn't in the mood to lose any more. Perhaps he had become greedy, by forcing larger and larger tethers into the Nether. In his haste to please his Master, he wondered if he had asked the portal to give him more than it could. He shrugged, seeking to ease the knotted muscles at the back of his neck. He had been casting for days now, without sleep or nourishment. Illidan was proving to be stubborn. The polished skulls around Gul'dan's neck rattled as he lowered his shoulders, their clatter soft, familiar, reassuring. He murmured a spell, and the pain disappeared.

He paced before the portal, rubbing his fingers against his jaw, thoughtful. He could increase the amount of sacrifices. No. He had done his calculations carefully. He had already overcompensated by a wide margin. If he were to use more souls, he would have to create a bigger portal. He grunted, dissatisfied. No time for that. He reached out and touched the portal, seeking. Ah, there was something unexpected. The tethers were not lost. They were gone, as though they never existed. Hmmm. He pulled his hand away. That left one possibility, as improbable as it seemed.

Something from within the Nether was consuming his tethers. He glanced at the body—half-demon, half night elf—hanging suspended beside the portal, tethers of fel energy pulsating around him, feeding the corrupted pieces of Illidan's soul back into it, piece by precious piece.

Gul'dan chuckled, he liked games, especially those he knew he was destined to win. He prodded the body with his staff, watching with satisfaction as it stirred. It roused from its slumber, neither living nor dead. The thing's eyes opened, malevolent. It glared at Gul'dan, filled with hate.

"So Illidan, it seems you are not as helpless as you have led me to believe."

A hiss of indrawn air, followed by a deep voice, resonating with ancient power. It filled the Chamber, echoing from the walls. "Never touch my avatar again."

Gul'dan gaped, incredulous. It couldn't be. He was only half finished with the transfer. From the edge of his vision, he caught the Eredar breaking off from their spellcasting. They sank to their knees, their heads bowed, reverent. Gul'dan hunched down onto his good knee, keeping his gaze fixed on the smooth flagged floor beneath the hem of his robe. "Master?"

The fel runes surrounding the portal and on the floor glowed brighter, resonating to the voice of Sargeras. "You are failing me, Gul'dan."

Gul'dan shifted, uneasy. A setback, nothing more, and he had it in hand. He glanced up, the hybrid writhed in its bonds. Fascinated, he watched the struggle between Illidan's body and his tainted, stolen soul, attuned for Sargeras. "The tethers do not return. I believe Illidan is somehow preventing them from—"

A laugh, harsh, scathing. "Fool. Illidan does nothing."

Gul'dan felt his grip tighten on his staff. He was no fool, Sargeras needed him. He should remember that. Still, Gul'dan's uncertainty of what sort of destruction the hybrid could unleash made him choose his next words with care, "My Lord, I beg you, tell me what I must do, and it shall be done."

Illidan's face twisted, fighting to hold back Sargeras's words. "Bring . . .the woman . . . _here_."

Gul'dan lifted an eyebrow, puzzled. What did this have to do with the missing tethers? Sargeras seemed to be waiting for him to respond. Gul'dan cleared his throat, and hazarded a guess. "Elisande?"

A sneer, followed by another struggle as Illidan tried and failed to prevent Sargeras from speaking. "Not that pretentious, ridiculous creature. No, you will bring me . . . Tyrande. Put her here . . . beside him, where I can see her."

Tyrande? Why? She was not part of their plan. Gul'dan suppressed his irritation, he didn't like having to change directions, especially when he was so close to finishing this task. "That might take some time. Shall I focus my energy on your avatar first, and then find the woman?"

The fel runes burst into flames, filling the Chamber with pillars of green fire. "You will never free me until you find her," Sargeras roared, his eyes blazing.

Gul'dan crouched lower, waiting for the flames to die down. So Tyrande must be the reason the tethers were going missing. But how?

A scream. Illidan strained against the tethers, fighting the words he was being forced to utter. "Find . . . her body, and bring her here. She is . . . in the Nether, channelling another, using their power to fight you, and heal Illidan."

Tyrande had gone into the Nether to protect Illidan? Gul'dan was impressed, he hadn't expected that. Sargeras said she was channelling another. He searched his mind. It would take the power of a god for her to enter the Void and still live. If it was Tyrande who had gone, there could only be one candidate. He glanced up, sharp, hoping against hope he was right.

"She is using Elune's Light to stop the tethers."

The hybrid smiled, twisted, triumphant. "Bring her body here, and use the tethers on both of them. Let her fight you, and drain Elune's Light. When she is weak enough, we will trap the Goddess inside her avatar." It chuckled, Illidan's face contorted, grotesque. "A worthy consort."

Illidan's body sagged, lifeless once more. Gul'dan tapped his fingers against his staff, considering what he must do. His knee began to ache. He wasn't used to kneeling. He rose, stiff, and gestured to the Eredar to cease in their labours. He waited until the prisoners were taken away before channelling into air.

"Show me where to find the woman, Tyrande."

His vision drifted over Azeroth, searching; seeking the tell-tale signs of Tyrande's signature imprint. Her power was so strong, even unconscious, she would be easy to detect. He felt a tendril tugging at him north of Orgrimmar. They had laid her body in Nordrassil? His lip curled with distaste. How provincial. He sped up the sheer walls of Mount Hyjal, anticipating finding her within one of the barrow dens. He searched them all, his irritation growing as her imprint ebbed and faded. Nothing. Hmmm. There, another tug. Further north still. He laughed. Of course. Why hadn't he thought to look there first?

He sailed down the side of Mount Hyjal, skimming over the trees of Winterspring. Another range of mountains, he slipped over them, her pull growing stronger. He knew it, they had placed her in the sacred barrow den of Moonglade, the very one used by Malfurion. He scoffed, derisive. How romantic.

He sped into the den, delving deep into its depths, following its twisting paths. He arrived at an empty den, and a dead end. He cursed and turned back. Her imprint saturated the place, he would have to find her the hard way.

He pressed on, determined, suppressing his impatience and deepening aggravation. Four times more he found himself deceived by the twisting tunnels. He raced back to the center and rotated in a slow circle. He had followed all of the branches, and each of the branches breaking away from those.

He stopped, and narrowed his eyes. A rock lay at an odd angle against the otherwise smooth surface of the barrow's curving walls. He moved closer, inspecting it. The shadows deepened, he pushed into them, blind, expecting to hit a wall. He didn't. He kept going. His brow lifted. A hidden path, clever, but not clever enough. He followed the steep descent, the tunnel burrowing deep beneath the mountains above.

He licked his lips, filled with anticipation. Her imprint called to him, his senses tingled with it. He was so close. He relished the thought of what was to come. To think he would not only provide his master with an avatar, but he would also create for him a consort, by capturing the goddess Elune herself. In his wildest dreams he had never expected his power to reach such heights. He had come far from his humble beginnings. Very far.

The path curved back onto itself, ending at a door, glowing with runes. He drifted through it, into a small den, luxuriously furnished. Rugs in rich purple and gold covered the earthen floor. Sconces held glowing wisps of blue light, and a small, smokeless fire burned in a little brazier set near the bed, filling the little chamber with warmth. How charming. Night elves certainly were fond of their little comforts.

He moved closer to the bed, Tyrande lay completely still. To look at her, she appeared dead. As lifeless as Illidan was when he took him from the Vault of the Wardens. He looked around, considering. There was no one around. He could materialise beside her, conjure a portal and bring her back before anyone was the wiser. He began to utter the incantation to begin his teleportation when the door opened with a soft creak. Startled, he waved his hand, and retreated back to his state of observation.

Malfurion entered, followed by two female attendants carrying towels over their arms, trays containing two bowls, and a variety of pretty stoppered vials. Gul'dan hissed, frustrated. Now he had found Tyrande, he wanted to get this errand over with so he could return to his original task. But, a part of him reminded him, it would be better to be patient. If he could take her without anyone knowing who had her, his advantage would be enormous. The two attendants knelt beside Tyrande. One began to undress her, while the other mixed the contents of the vials together in a bowl, preparing the waters to bathe her.

A whisper crept into his brain, insidious. "Stop wasting time. Take her."

The hairs on the back of Gul'dan's neck lifted. He turned, slow, from his view into the den. The hybrid had awoken once more. He gazed at Tyrande, its unreadable eyes burning, molten gold. Hunger showed on its features, but whether it was Illidan's or Sargeras's mind which was upon the creature—or even a bizarre allegiance between the two—it was difficult to tell.

Gul'dan gestured at the sundered space. "Not while Malfurion is there."

The hybrid's eyes narrowed into slits. "Show me."

Gul'dan shifted to the side, so he would both no longer obstruct the creature's view and be able to keep an eye on it. He didn't like the feel of its eyes on his back. He tilted his staff, and rotated the view so it faced the door. Oblivious to Gul'dan's intrusion, Malfurion paced the confines of the narrow den, his eyes moving from the floor to his wife and back again.

Gul'dan glanced up and caught the creature smiling, malevolent. "He looks worried. He should be. Soon she will be mine, as she always should have been."

"So, it _is_ Illidan this time—or at least the part of him I have brought back."

The hybrid jerked its head at the den. "Quiet, fool. Show her to me again." It licked its lips. "I want to see her."

Gul'dan tipped his staff once more, and the view turned again. Tyrande lay naked atop her bed, with only a set of towels covering her breasts and groin. The women washed her arms with gentle movements, singing softly to her.

The creature groaned. "I will not wait. Bring her to me. Now."

Gul'dan's jaw stiffened. It needed to learn who was in charge. Until Sargeras took Illidan over, the hybrid was Gul'dan's servant, not the other way around. Gul'dan shook his head. "When they are gone. I will not reveal my hand when there is no need. Our master would want it so."

The hybrid roared, furious. A writhing tendril of orange light snapped out from his chest. It grasped onto the edge of the opening. Horrified, Gul'dan watched as the creature channelled its power into it, turning it into a portal. Within the den, the frightened screams of the women rose up. There was a clatter of broken crockery. Malfurion was shouting, ordering them to get help.

The portal lay open, a pulsating ring, rimed in fiery orange light. Another tendril snapped out, and wrapped around Gul'dan's neck. It tightened. He scrabbled at it, fighting for air.

"Until he returns, _I_ am your Master. Displease me—" the tendril squeezed, vicious. Gul'dan felt his eyes bulging "—and I will end you. Now. Bring me Tyrande." It flung him into the portal.

Gul'dan crashed through the portal into the den, slamming against a dresser. He turned, his throat aching, and found Malfurion standing in front of Tyrande, casting a powerful spell. Sun and moonfire seared Gul'dan's body. His robes began to smoke, and his cloak smouldered. He cursed, and threw up a protective shield of fel energy. Ignoring Malfurion, he stomped out the sparks on his cloak's hem before they caught fire. What a mess. This was not how he intended to go about this task. The hybrid's haste had left Gul'dan off guard, and had taken away his intended advantage of secrecy and stealth. When he returned he would think hard how to subdue that thing, he would not have what just happened to him happen again. A dozen more spells crashed against the barrier.

He looked up at Malfurion from under his brow, and almost laughed at the desperation on his opponent's face. Archdruid or not, the night elf knew he had lost. Yet he fought on, his eyes cold as he wasted his spells against Gul'dan's near impenetrable barrier.

Neither one of them had been prepared for this confrontation. But Gul'dan would not waste time fighting, not when he knew Malfurion had sent for help. He crossed the space, slowed by Malfurion's countless spells and roots. But everything the druid cast, Gul'dan could counter with a wave of his hand. So far, so good.

Once he reached the portal, he murmured an incantation, and Tyrande levitated from the bed. With a curve of his fingers and a few spoken words, Tyrande began to float toward the portal. Malfurion cried out, screaming for aid, his spell casting intensified. The fool even cast roots on his own wife. She halted in mid-air.

Gul'dan had had enough. He waved his hand at Malfurion, covering his eyes with darkness. Malfurion cried out, scrabbling at his eyes, his casts misdirected, blowing up pieces of furniture. Massive holes exploded from the walls.

On the other side of the portal, Gul'dan could see the thing watching them. It thrashed within the bonds of the tethers holding him in place.

"Hurry fool, " it snarled. "There are more coming in the tunnel."

It was true, Gul'dan could hear them now, even above the noise of the explosions around him; the pounding of their feet against the raw earth, the shouts of command ringing out. A least two dozen were on their way. Too many. He would be able to escape, but not with Tyrande.

With a flick of his staff, the roots around her disintegrated in flames of fel, there was no time to waste. He scuttled over to her, and took hold of her arm, pulling her behind him, still levitating, toward the portal. The door crashed open, filling the room with druids, all of them casting spells. Sun, moon, and starfire rained down onto him, relentless. Under their onslaught, he sensed his protective barrier weakening. He was running out of time. He shoved Tyrande headfirst into the portal. She slipped into the Chamber and tumbled to the floor. His lip curled in satisfaction. As always, the night elves were too late.

An enormous spell hit him. Gul'dan staggered, stunned by the impact. Despite his blindness Malfurion had struck him, hitting him with the full power of the moon. Gul'dan's barrier succumbed. The druids howled, triumphant. They rallied, raining their fire down onto him. Gul'dan bellowed, writhing in agony. It burned. He leapt into the portal, his robes in flames. He slammed the portal closed, cutting off those who followed after him, several dismembered body parts tumbled to the floor. Blood splattered onto Tyrande's face and hair.

Nourished by the Chamber's fel energy, Gul'dan cried out an incantation to extinguish the flames. He sagged against his staff, shuddering. This was not how he had wanted to do it. Now Malfurion knew exactly who had Tyrande and where she had been taken.

He got up and turned to leave. The thing stopped him, its voice low, dangerous.

"Are you just going to leave her there?"

Gul'dan turned, furious. He didn't care anymore about what that thing could do to him. He was in control, not it. He nodded at the creature, terse.

"You have those fiery tethers of yours. Put her where you want her. I am going to change my robe."

Ignoring its outraged hiss, he left the thing behind. But as he passed out of the Chamber, he glanced back, and caught the hybrid reaching out for her. Four tendrils slipped out from its torso and wrapped around her, gentle. It lifted her up, and held her upright in front of it, its eyes moving over her, filled with adoration. More tethers shot out, fashioning themselves into a gown, covering her nakedness. The gown was actually quite beautiful, worthy of a queen, or even a goddess. The thing must have sensed Gul'dan watching him, it glanced at the corridor, suspicious. Gul'dan drew back into the shadows—despite the smouldering stink of his burnt robe—his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

The creature pulled Tyrande closer. Several more tendrils slipped free, smaller ones. They touched her face and hair, and with tender strokes, it wiped the blood splatters away, using its light to burn it away without hurting her. When it was finished, it held her there, suspended in front of it. It drew her closer still, close enough for their lips to touch, but at the last moment it lowered her and pressed its lips against her forehead instead.

It moaned, quiet, straining against the tethers holding it in place. It longed to hold her. Gul'dan sneered at its fruitless struggle, relishing its frustration.

More tethers spiralled out from it, cradling her; phantom arms to replace the hybrid's own. "Tyrande," it murmured. "My love. At last, you are mine."

Gul'dan backed away. He had seen enough. Thanks to Tyrande, he had found the way to control that thing. He chuckled, and went to change his robe, his mood improving with each step. The future was turning out to be interesting indeed.

* * *

Malfurion stared, panting, at the suddenly, impossibly empty bed. His sight had returned the moment the portal closed. He reached out and touched the blankets, disbelieving. It had happened so fast. She was gone. Taken by Gul'dan himself, into the Tomb of Sargeras.

Within the portal he had seen a creature hanging suspended in fel tethers watching them, intent. Illidan . . . or, at least what used to be Illidan. Only the body looked the same as the one stolen from the Vault. Its eyes, though, were another matter altogether. No longer blindfolded, its eyes burned with orange light, blazing with fire. The eyes of a god—or a titan. Malfurion shuddered. And now, it had her. Despite all his careful precautions, Malfurion had lost Tyrande to the most dangerous being in Azeroth.

The other druids gathered around him, quiet, their expressions sombre. Three had died attempting to follow Tyrande through the portal. Malfurion knelt beside the fallen ones, and closed their eyes. Whispering his thanks for their valour, he commended their souls to Elune. His heart empty, he watched the druids collect the dead and depart back up the tunnel. Their footsteps retreated. Silence fell.

He sat down on the bed, the broken vials of perfumed Moonwell water crunched under the pads of his feral feet. He stared at shattered pieces, numb. How would he ever get her back? He had scoffed when she told him they needed to retrieve Illidan's body from the Chamber of the Eye, had even said it was impossible.

Malfurion shook his head. He couldn't think straight. He felt shock taking hold of him, soothing him, comforting him, filling him with denial. He looked around the ruined room, sceptical. None of this was real. It was a trick of his mind, residue from the Nightmare that still clung to him, his fears for Tyrande were preying on him.

He patted the bed. Yes. Tyrande was still safe in the Den. He was just having a bad dream. Soon, he would wake up. He waited, staring at the opposite wall, where a misfired bolt of Moonfire had left a gaping hole. That looked real enough. A clod of hard-packed soil slipped free and tumbled onto the floor with a dull thud. It broke into pieces; a few rolled away. He watched them come to a halt against the broken furniture or ricochet down the holes in the floor. Silence fell again. Numb, he stared at nothing.

He lifted his head sensing the actinic stink of fel taint. It had begun to seep from every surface, a faint mist of foul green coated the den. It crept, sinister up the bed, and across his lap. He stood up, alarmed, brushing at his legs. The fel mist slid to the floor, and pooled at his feet. He shuddered. He wasn't dreaming after all. Just by being there Gul'dan's presence had corrupted the sanctity of the Den. The mist spread toward the door, insidious. He cursed, anger filling him. Was it not enough Gul'dan had taken Tyrande, did he have to corrupt Moonglade's most sacred Den as well?

He looked at the empty bed, slithering with greasy fel tendrils. He rubbed the back of his forearm over his eyes. He was so tired. His brief respite with Tyrande had revived him, but since she had gone, the fatigue he had suffered since escaping the Nightmare had returned with a vengeance. Exhaustion dragged on him, leaving him angry, pessimistic and irritable. He forced himself to recall the room on the other side of the portal; perhaps there would be something useful he could remember, a detail, anything.

A thought struck him, offering him a sliver of hope. As far as he knew no one still living had seen inside the Chamber of the Eye since Illidan buried the Tomb of Sargeras under a pile of rocks millennia ago. Malfurion's brief glimpse of its interior might present an advantage, even if only a small one. It was better than nothing.

Malfurion longed to leave the fel-tainted space, but his rational mind told him the connection to the Chamber was strongest in Tyrande's den. If he left, would he remember as much? He forced himself to stay, despite ripples of revulsion snaking up his spine. Tyrande's life was at stake, nothing else mattered. Ignoring the eddies of yellow-green mist drifting over his feet and wrapping around his ankles, he closed his eyes and concentrated.

The Chamber had been circular, its walls constructed of enormous ashlars of stone, black as night, reeking of a great age, long lost to Azeroth's history. Above, the ceiling had been cloaked in shadow, but there had been a sensation of height. So, it must be deep underground. He shrugged his shoulders, sensing the fel mist had begun to curl around his neck. It fell away, only to begin its climb anew. He suppressed a shudder.

Perhaps there could be another way in, from the sea? He shook his head. There would be time enough for strategy later. He needed to hurry, he still had to find Keepers to cleanse Tyrande's room before the taint spread into the dens of other helpless, sleeping druids. He furrowed his brow, focussing.

In what appeared to be the Chamber's centre, a large circle of fel runes had glowed on the stone floor, lurid green. He had been able to see another series of fel runes rising up the side of one of the walls beside Illidan's captive body.

Could that have been the edge of the portal to the Twisting Nether? He couldn't be certain, but if he could remember the series of runes, it might help. He committed them to memory, safe for later use. Someone, somewhere might be able to use this information.

He continued to search for other details but apart from Illidan's body hanging suspended in the air by fel tethers attached to a frame of fel, nothing more came to mind. The placement of Gul'dan's portal into Tyrande's den had shown no exit from the Chamber. The portal must have been facing away from the Chamber's exit. Malfurion opened his eyes, the layout of the room fixing itself in his mind's eye. If the runes on the wall were for the portal, it meant the portal to the Twisting Nether should face the entrance to the room, across the circle of runes. It would have to be enough.

He shook off the tendrils of mist, fighting a fresh wave of despair. Ever since the Nightmare, bleak feelings of desolation plagued him, robbing him of even the smallest measures of peace, and now with Tyrande gone . . . He touched the indentation left on the pillow by her head, and brushed the tainted mist away.

No. He would not give up. Never before had he had to fight despair, but now it seemed this was his additional burden. No one left the Nightmare unscathed, and he had remained there far longer than any. The others had gone mad. Helpless, he had watched them.

He went to the door, and left the ruined, poisoned room behind. He hurried up into the central chamber and on through the twisting tunnels until he reached the fresh, clear air of Moonglade. He gestured to two Keepers to join him. They listened to his description of the encroaching taint, their expressions cold. They nodded, grim. They would cleanse the Lady Tyrande's den, no trace of the foul necromancer's presence would be left behind, they would ensure it.

They departed, calling for help as they entered the Barrow, four dryads hurried to join them, the usually ebullient females came forward wringing their hands, fearful; two of them were crying. Malfurion clenched his jaw, and bit back an oath. The whole of Moonglade would know by now that Tyrande had been taken.

It had been hard enough on her people to learn what she had decided to do—but this—this would crush their spirits. His own already sagged under the weight of his additional responsibility, everyone looked to him now that Tyrande was gone. She had done so much, a steward of the people and a shepherd of their souls. He felt so inadequate in her stead. He realised he had spent far too much time walking the Emerald Dream. He might have gained much as a druid, but he had lost more as Tyrande's consort. He had failed her all his life. He rode out another crashing wave of despair. He would not fail Tyrande anymore. He would prove he was worthy of her.

He left the Barrow's gardens and took a gryphon back to Darnassus. The flight would take awhile, but it would give him time to think, and sort through his thoughts. He still did not have a plan. As the gryphon's wings beat a steady rhythm toward the towering trunk of Teldrassil, he considered the scenario he now faced.

The Tomb of Sargeras. Once, long ago, when he had been a young night elf, the Tomb had been Suramar's Temple of Elune. But long ago, during the War of the Ancients, the Burning Legion had destroyed the bridge from the city to the small island which housed the once stunning, elegant Temple and tried to open a second portal there to usher more demons into Azeroth. Thousands of years later, the Guardian Aegwynn defeated the Avatar of Sargeras within the Temple's ruins, and the once beautiful temple was renamed the Tomb of Sargeras. It was sealed and left buried under the waters of the sea. But Gul'dan had come and raised the Tomb from the sea upon a new island marred by the taint of the Legion. Stripped of all life, its desolate surface lay blackened and smouldering. The only variation to the bleak vista were the pools of fel lava bubbling up from the corrupted soil.

And now, Tyrande's body was trapped deep within the Legion's stronghold in Azeroth, its walls impenetrable until all the pieces of the Pillars of Creation were collected and assembled by the Kirin Tor. The last Malfurion had heard was various factions had managed to gather all but the final, most powerful piece—and that piece was rumoured to be held by Gul'dan himself.

Malfurion scoffed, bitter, as despair reared its ugly head once more. It was an impossible situation. They could not get into the Tomb without the completed Pillar, but to be able to even approach the Broken Shore, they needed what Gul'dan held, and apart from the necromancer's sudden, unexpected visit to Tyrande's hiding place, he never left the Tomb. Of course, after the hundreds of attacks by the Legion across Azeroth, the armies of both the Horde and Alliance had gathered to attack the Legion's stronghold. Malfurion shook his head. The cost had been enormous.

Despite the support of thousands of champions, and wielding the legendary sword Shalamayne, the powerful King Varian Wrynn had fallen at the gates of the Tomb of Sargeras. Malfurion had heard the reports, sent out afterwards by Greymane, the bitter, vengeful leader of the Worgen. He blamed the Horde for the loss of Varian and of his own son in the failed confrontation.

Greymane had watched from high above in a retreating airship as Gul'dan struck down the valiant, brave Varian as he fought off dozens of wrathguard so his people could escape. The leader of Horde, the troll Vol'jin, succumbed to his own injuries soon after the Horde's retreat. In a very short space of time, the Legion had nearly annihilated both the Alliance and the Horde, and with almost no effort. Both the Horde and the Alliance had had to name new leaders. Sylvanas, the Banshee Queen of the Undead had been chosen by Vol'jin as he died, and Varian's son Anduin, had had to take his father's throne. Malfurion liked the boy, but the loss of Varian was serious. The Alliance lacked a true leader, and had fallen to petty bickering and infighting. If Varian still lived, Malfurion would have gone to him at once, but the boy . . . No. He had not yet earned the respect of the other factions. Malfurion could not go to him with this. There had to be someone else, someone who could bring the factions together, and lead them as one, as Varian had once done.

Malfurion thought of Alexstrasza. Good, kind, benevolent Alexstrasza, once the Dragon Aspect of Life, though no more. He could trust her, although would she risk angering her kin by involving herself in mortal affairs? If only Ysera still lived, she would have convinced the Aspects to help galvanise the factions—his gryphon was closing in on Rut'theran Village fast. He braced himself for the landing.

Once off the gryphon, he made his way into the soft fuchsia glow of the portal, a heartbeat later he emerged at the top of Teldrassil. Guards stood to attention as he passed. He ignored them, and made his way to Tyrande's house, his thoughts churning carrying on where he left off. Alexstrasza was a possibility, but there had to be someone else, someone he could trust, who also had the trust of the people, not just of the Alliance, but of the Horde. He stopped in his tracks. Of course.

Khadgar. Malfurion changed direction, and headed to the Temple of the Moon, where the Draenei mages provided portals to the other capital cities. His steps slowed, as fresh doubts rose up. While Khadgar did have the trust of many, he was not an isolated entity, and could not lead others without the support of the Council of The Kirin Tor, and the Council was more political than all of the factions on Azeroth put together. Plus, Malfurion had heard Khadgar had at least one very powerful enemy. Jaina Proudmoore.

Not long ago, the Archmage Jaina had departed, furious, when Khadgar had led the vote against her refusal to work with the Horde mages in the fight against the Legion. Filled with bitterness over what she believed was the Horde's betrayal at the Broken Shore, she left, refusing to be a part of what Khadgar intended. Things were no more stable in Dalaran than they were anywhere else. The whole of Azeroth seemed to be falling apart. Was nowhere safe? Was nothing sacred anymore?

Malfurion stopped himself, sensing the thoughts that plagued him so often, of darkness and despair returning. He shook his head. Tyrande needed him now more than ever, and here he was standing on the lake bridge in the center of Darnassus dithering over the infighting of the Kirin Tor. He was wasting time. She still lived, and it was his duty to bring her body back from that pit. He had failed to protect her today. He would not fail her again. Filled with determination, he pushed his way through the guards flanking him, hastening to the Temple of the Moon. It was time to go to Dalaran. Khadgar would help him get Tyrande back, he had to, because Malfurion wasn't going to take no for an answer.


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

* * *

Khadgar leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. It had been a long day, and from the look of today's postal delivery, his work was going to drag on far into the night. He eyed the neatly piled stacks of petitions, demands and complaints covering his desk. Too many needed the aid of the Kirin Tor, each believing _their_ cause the most important and worthiest against the Legion.

The last missive—a note from the Knights of the Silver Hand, the faction of holy paladins—had taken more of his time. He had read, uneasy, of their claim their Highlord Tirion Fordring had survived the demon Krosus's attack during the Battle of the Broken Shore. While seeking their lord's sword, the Ashbringer, they sensed Tirion's presence trapped near the Tomb of Sargeras. Four men had died before a fifth brought back the intelligence they needed. His prison was at a location called Hope's End, and guarded by a demon called Zerus. They urgently needed teleports, before it was too late.

Khadgar pinched the bridge of his nose, as familiar feelings of frustration ate at him. The Kirin Tor could do many things, but a portal to the Broken Shore was still an impossibility. The Battle had not lasted long enough for any of the mages to fix a location, furthermore, the island was seething with demons. Even if he could provide a teleport, the knights would be slaughtered as soon as they stepped through.

He shook his head, thinking of Tirion. All had believed him dead after the Battle, hundreds had _seen_ him burned by the fel. But what if it was true and Tirion somehow still lived? Khadgar sighed, troubled. Tirion was the Champion of the Light. To learn after all these months Tirion still lived and suffered, alone and forgotten at the hands of the demons . . . Khadgar quaffed the last of his wine and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. No. The Silver Hand Knights had to be wrong. It was unthinkable. Khadgar pushed his empty wine cup to the side. One of the apprentice mages approached, trembling with nerves, and refilled it.

He glanced at her, she looked familiar. Ah, yes, the one who kept dropping books. He remembered what it was like to be new to the arcane arts, how intimidating the accomplished mages were, Medivh had certainly terrified him. He lifted his brow as she finished pouring.

"Idira, isn't it?"

She ducked her head and nodded, her cheeks turning bright red. Clutching the silver wine pitcher against her chest, she backed away from his desk, keeping her head lowered, her long blonde hair obscuring her features. Khadgar picked up his cup and walked over to his balcony, overlooking the colonnades and turrets of Dalaran's residential district. He turned and caught her looking around his office, curious. He motioned for her to join him. Hesitant, she followed after him and met him at the railing.

He sipped his wine, watching as the gryphons took off from Krasus's Landing, one after another. He pointed at one which had just left.

"I will bet you one Dalaran copper that bird is going to Highmountain."

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. "It's going to Azsuna."

Sure enough, the gryphon wheeled hard to the right and dropped beneath the floating platform of the city. He fished in the pocket of his tunic and found a copper coin. He held it out to her.

Her lips quirked into a half-smile. "It's alright, you don't have to pay up."

"Oh? Well, that's very kind of you." With a flourish the coin became a little songbird. It sat on his finger. It ruffled its blue feathers at him, indignant. Idira's expression softened. She reached out and stroked the bird's breast. It tolerated her attention for a moment before flying off and descending into the treetops of Khadgar's gardens. Idira watched it flit into the trees, her lips parting into a soft smile filled with longing. As her fearful demeanour melted away, the transition in her appearance was astonishing, like watching a rose bloom. Khadgar found he couldn't take his eyes from her. He cleared his throat. It wasn't appropriate, he was the Leader of the Council of Six. He forced himself to look back out over the city.

"And where does your family live?"

She didn't answer. He thought she had not heard him and was just about to repeat the question when he caught her brushing a tear from her eye. He turned in time to see another tear slip free. She hurried to push it away with the back of her hand. He searched his pockets, flustered, trying to find a clean handkerchief. He held out his best one to her.

She took it and dabbed at her tears, which continued to escape, silent. He bit back a curse. Stupid, careless, why hadn't he taken a moment just to think his question through before speaking? Thousands of innocents had died during the Legion's invasions across Azeroth. And now, he had brought back a terrible memory and made her cry. Filled with remorse, he held out his wine cup, awkward.

"Please. Take a little, it will help."

She nodded, obedient. Her fingers touched his, sending a deep thrum of arcane energy cascading through him. His brow lifted. He hadn't expected that. He watched her while she sipped, her head down, withdrawing into herself once more, making herself so small he sensed she wished to vanish. He took her elbow and led her to a cushioned bench. She sat, twisting her fingers around the stem of the wine cup. Not knowing how else to intrude on her thoughts, he cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, I should not have pried into your life."

She lifted her head and met his eyes. He took a step back, incredulous. Her pupils were an astonishing colour of pure violet. He had never seen such a—She bit her lower lip at his reaction, shy once more. He tried and failed to get a hold of himself. She blinked, oblivious to his internal conflict. One of the tears clinging to her long, dark lashes slipped free.

She stopped biting her lower lip, and he could see the ghost of a smile that used to live on the curve of her lips, almost gone. His heart lurched, his protective instinct fully aroused. He couldn't help himself, he wanted to know more about her. And—he reminded himself—she did seem to be a conduit for an immense amount of raw power. It was his duty to keep track of these things, after all. She brushed the tear away and shook her head.

"Most of my life I lived in northern Westfall, on the coast." She drew a shuddering breath and looked up at the sky, her gaze turning inwards as she relived her memory. "Then, one night, the Legion's ships arrived. I went back to help my father, but there was no time. The demons came down from their ships, materialising everywhere, even in the house." She blinked and several more tears tracked their way down her face. "I might have saved myself, but I lost the only one who ever really loved me." She looked away. The tears fell onto her lap, staining the faded material of her threadbare blue dress.

Khadgar conjured a chair, and took a seat opposite her. She continued to look past the balcony's railing in the direction of the Broken Shore, her expression withdrawn, distant, angry. He could sense arcane power boiling within her. Her emotions seemed to be connected to whatever gift she possessed. Interesting. And worrying.

"I am sorry. You have suffered a terrible loss, but you have come to the right place. We can help you. With eyes that colour, I am not surprised you have not been able to intuit how to control it. You are like a walking leyline, your connection is chaotic, and requires intense training."

Idira glanced at him, taken aback. "It does?"

Khadgar nodded, recalling the times the others in the Council had sent Idira to fetch heavy volumes from the archives. Just the other day he had seen her struggling to carry a huge stack of books up the stairs, far too heavy for her to handle. In all the times he had seen her, she had never once lifted up her face, now he thought he understood why.

"How long have you been on library duty?"

She blinked, puzzled by his non-sequitur. "Ever since I arrived, three months ago."

Khadgar shook his head, disgusted. More petty politics, this time right under his nose. Whomever was training her must have been threatened by her unusual eyes, and instead of bringing her straight to the Council, they had assigned her to menial labour, usually reserved for those who misbehaved. Without arcane power to summon the books, hers was an exhausting, pointless task. Perhaps her mentor had hoped Idira would give up and leave.

Now he knew the truth, he was angry. Someone with latent powers like hers, who could aid in the fight against the Legion had been carrying books for three months? He stood up, and paced the length of the balcony, furious.

"From now on, you will study theory under my tutelage, and if she has the time, the Archmage Modera can oversee your practicals. Your book carrying days are finished, the Kirin Tor needs your abilities, now more than ever."

Idira opened her mouth to say something, but Khadgar raised his hand, stopping her. He continued, seething. "In three months, with diligent study, you could have already accomplished intermediate proficiencies. A needless waste."

A knock came to the door of his office, and Modera entered, followed by Kalec. Khadgar nodded at them, curt. He turned back to Idira, who had risen to her feet and was once more shrinking into herself, shy around the other Archmages. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a ring. He held it out to her.

"With this ring, you will be granted admission to my private office in the Library, where my own collection resides, some of the books there are from Karazhan, gifted to me by Medivh. You are to begin studying immediately. The first thing I want you to learn is how to conjure food and drink. You are going to need that for the long days you have ahead of you. Also, move your things out of the apprentice's quarters, and into my office in the Library. I never use it these days anyway. I won't have you tormented for being different. For all we know, you are destined to become an Archmage. Carrying books. Bah!"

Clutching the ring against her chest, Idira fled Khadgar's office. He returned to his desk and sat down, still angry. Modera arched an eyebrow.

"What was that about?"

Khadgar flung his arm in the direction of the Arcane School's campus. "Politics. Pride. The Legion need not worry about defeating us, we are doing a good enough job of it ourselves."

Kalec crossed his arms. "Speaking of politics, you have a visitor."

Khadgar waited, defensive, praying it wasn't Jaina returning to continue her campaign against the Horde's presence in the Kirin Tor.

Kalec tilted his head toward the closed door. "Malfurion wants to speak to the three of us. He is waiting outside with a face like thunder."

"Malfurion?" Khadgar felt a tremor of apprehension. Malfurion was supposed to be dealing with the Nightmare. Khadgar stood up, thinking of Tyrande's recent visit. He still had not thought of a way to bring up the subject of Illidan's body to the others—it was on his list of things to do. Well, it seemed the time had come, this was going to be about her, of that Khadgar had no doubt. "By all means, bring him in."

Modera nodded at the door. It opened, silent. In the hallway, Malfurion paced back and forth, lost in thought. He looked up, startled.

Khadgar crossed the room, and bowed to the Lord of the Night Elves. "Archdruid Malfurion, please join us. Forgive me for having kept you waiting."

"Archmage Khadgar, thank you for seeing me, and on such short notice," Malfurion said, his voice empty. He walked into the centre of the room, and greeted the others with a nod of his head. Khadgar lifted his fingers, and traced a small rune in the air. The door closed with a quiet thud, he sensed his spell locking in place, sealing their conversation from eavesdroppers.

Khadgar eyed Malfurion as he returned to his desk. The changes were subtle, but Malfurion looked different, as though the entity inside Malfurion that made Malfurion who he was had been stripped away, leaving only an image of the being he once was behind. But there was something else, an aura which clung to the night elf. Something dark and bleak. It grieved Khadgar to see one of Azeroth's greatest champions in such a state. He wasn't sure, but he suspected Malfurion would never recover from what had been done to him in the Nightmare. Varian, Vol'jin, Tirion, even Jaina, in her own way, had been lost to Azeroth because of the Legion. And now Malfurion, too. When would it end?

Depressed, he returned to his desk and gestured at one of the nearby sofas. "Please make yourself comfortable . . . is there anything you would like for refreshment?"

Malfurion glanced at the sofa. "I'd rather stand, and thank you, no."

Khadgar moved in front of his desk. He would have loved to sit, but if Malfurion was going to stand, then everyone had to, it was protocol. He did lean, just a little, against the desk.

"Of course," he nodded at the Archdruid. "What can we do for you?"

Malfurion's expression hardened. "I won't waste your time. Tyrande has been taken by Gul'dan."

Khadgar felt a tingle of deep alarm. He caught the surprised look which passed between Modera and Kalec. He pushed away from the desk, now was not the time to jump to conclusions. "How?"

"A portal from the Chamber of the Eye into her den in Moonglade's barrow. I could not stop him. I—" Malfurion fell silent, fighting to control his emotions.

When he remained silent, Modera broke in. "Khadgar, we are still waiting for you to tell us what Tyrande came to you about." She glanced at Kalec. He nodded, encouraging her to continue. "I think now would be a good time."

Khadgar sighed. "Very well. She came to tell me Illidan lives. Gul'dan has been stripping Illidan's soul piece by piece from the Twisting Nether and feeding it into Illidan's body, corrupted. Illidan is to be Sargeras's avatar. Once Gul'dan has completed the transition, Illidan will rise up, and lead the demons against us. Against him, Azeroth will fall."

As he expected, a heavy silence fell on the room as the others absorbed his disclosure. After a long while, Kalec asked, "Illidan could have been lying, or it may not have even been Illidan. Do you think it was a trap to capture Tyrande?"

"No," Malfurion answered, certain. "I saw my brother in the Nether, when Elune opened a portal to carry Tyrande to him. I saw what Gul'dan has done to him. Illidan's suffering has been unimaginable. None could withstand it . . . none but my powerful, wilful, determined brother."

Kalec looked at Khadgar, sharp. "Elune is a part of this as well? You have kept much from us, too much."

Khadgar shook his head. "Elune's involvement is news to me as well. It is good you have come to us, Malfurion."

Silence fell again. Khadgar gave Malfurion time. It was obvious the druid was suffering. Malfurion brushed his kilt, smoothing down the fur, lost in his own thoughts.

Khadgar decided to move the conversation into safer waters. "You mentioned the Chamber of the Eye. How can you be certain that is what you saw?"

Malfurion looked up at Khadgar from under his brow. "Illidan told Tyrande his body was held there. Through Gul'dan's portal I saw Illidan's body suspended in the air, strung up in fel tethers. His eyes burned a glowing orange. Already he sees with the eyes of the Dark Titan."

Modera shuddered and turned away. Kalec groaned. He pressed his palms against his eyes, murmuring, "There is only one way to stop this. We need to get Illidan's body out of there."

Khadgar nodded. "Which is what Tyrande asked me to accomplish. I have not mentioned it yet because I have not thought of a plan. We will only have one chance to get this right."

The others nodded, solemn. Malfurion spoke up once more.

"There were runes on the wall of the Eye. I memorised them, and as much of the Chamber as I was able to see. I had hoped it might help."

Khadgar nodded, impressed with Malfurion's foresight. "Between the three of us, we should be able to conjure a projection of your memory. But we will need your permission to sift through it. We will also save the images to our archives for further study."

Malfurion took a seat on one of the sofas. "Do whatever is necessary."

Khadgar cast a rune into the air, and held it there while Modera cast another. Kalec waited until they were finished before adding his. The three runes rotated around Malfurion's head until they came into alignment. They stopped and locked in place with a soft hiss. That part done, Khadgar commenced to cast the spell to generate a rune that would temporarily place the mages outside of time and space. Their eyes burning bright, the others added their power to the rune Khadgar cast onto the floor. Khadgar stepped back, panting. It was done.

As one, they stepped into it, careful to place their feet on the intersections of the largest triangle at the same time. They brought their hands up, and aligned their energy. The arcane's blue light glowed bright, thrumming with energy. Khadgar uttered another spell, and Malfurion appeared within the middle of the rune's triangle, levitating.

Under their feet, the rune began to rotate. The walls of Khadgar's office shimmered, turning translucent. The rune spun faster. The walls disappeared, and the floor fell away. Beneath their feet, the city disappeared, building by building, swallowed up by nothingness as time reversed, and space ceased to exist. They were almost ready. Khadgar looked up.

Above the runic platform the massive point of a cone bore down upon them, the cone's vast circumference spreading away towards its base far above; beneath his feet, the same, but in reverse, the circumference of the cone fell away from its point towards its base far beneath them. Within their event horizon between the points of the two cones, arcane energy crackled, gathering. A beam shot out and connected to the runic assembly around Malfurion's head. He juddered as the light probed, but he held still.

They spun so fast, it felt as if they stood still. Silence surrounded them. Slow, like drip of nectar, the images came, jumbled, and in broken fragments as the arcane tendrils searched for the full memory, hidden throughout Malfurion's brain. The fel runes appeared first, then the walls, and finally Illidan, or what used to be Illidan. All of it just as Malfurion had described. It was perfect.

Kalec pointed at the runes against the wall. "I have not seen anything like that since before the War of the Ancients. Those runes are part of an incantation to tear a hole into the fabric of reality. I thought all knowledge of them had been destroyed in the Maelstrom."

"Obviously not," Modera muttered.

Khadgar eyed the thing that was once Illidan, uneasy, noting the glowing orange tendrils writhing from its chest, holding the portal open to Moonglade. "Its powers are already enormous, if it can hold open a portal with just its mind."

They continued to examine every part of the image, discussing details, and recording them into arcane prisms for deeper study later. Malfurion groaned, sweat breaking out on his face, blood dripped from his nose.

Khadgar locked the prisms into an amulet for safekeeping until they returned. "Let's bring him back, we have tested him hard."

Piece by piece, the image disintegrated as the memories returned back to their places in Malfurion's mind. The rune's spin slowed. Dalaran reappeared, building up brick by brick until the floor appeared once more beneath them. The walls returned and solidified. They slowed their channels, until the rune beneath them dimmed, leaving nothing more than a faint actinic scent behind. Kalec removed his rune from Malfurion, followed by the others. The druid slumped, unconscious onto the floor.

Modera knelt and checked his vitals. She stood. "He's going to have a beast of a headache when he wakes up."

Khadgar nodded, and began to open a portal. "Let's get him back to Darnassus where he can rest and his own healers can attend to him."

Kalec lifted his fingers, and cast a counterspell, interrupting Khadgar's portal. "We can't send him back. Gul'dan has taken Tyrande, but we do not know why. We cannot assume he will not take another. It could be Malfurion next, or Anduin, or Sylvanas. We need to keep what leaders we have left here, under our protection, and if Gul'dan arrives, we will be ready for him, with a trap of our own."

"Kalec is right," Modera concurred. "Until we understand what is happening, and why, we cannot take any chances. This must be brought to the attention of the full Council of Six. Khadgar can you speak to them while I go to Anduin? And Kalec—can you manage Sylvanas?"

Kalec winced. "Not without one of her own to provide me with a safe escort."

Khadgar realised Kalec had raised an excellent point, and, if anything, having the major leaders within Dalaran and under the protection of the Kirin Tor might go some way to helping him with his agenda to bring the aggrieved parties together long enough to fight as one against the Legion. The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed. Kalec had just offered him the solution to his dilemma on a platter. He looked up.

"We are going to need to talk to Aethas Sunreaver, if he is with us, then we may have a way in to Sylvanas. Archmage Karlain worked hard to smooth the way for the Horde to re-enter the Kirin Tor, and spoke well of Aethas, ensuring the vote was swayed in Aethas's favour. If anyone of us should approach Aethas, it should be him."

"I will speak to Karlain," Kalec said.

Khadgar rubbed the back of his neck. Now he had found a way forward, new concerns had begun to trouble him. "We must be careful how much we reveal to the others. All they need to know is Gul'dan is transforming Illidan into Sargeras's avatar and Tyrande has been taken to the Chamber of the Eye. It is better if they do not know where Tyrande's spirit is, at least not right now. It is possible there is a connection to her being in the Nether and Gul'dan having taken her. He may have no interest in the others at all."

"So you intend to use fear for their own safety to motivate the leaders to cooperate?" Modera asked, a note of surprise in her voice. "It is not like you to deceive."

Khadgar turned on her, irritable. "Azeroth's existence is at stake, this is no time to be splitting hairs. Do you see that stack of papers on my desk? Everyone is coming to me for answers because Azeroth has fallen into chaos without Vol'jin and Varian. And now, with Tyrande gone, and Malfurion suffering from the Nightmare, who is left? I have resisted as long as I could, hoping Anduin would manage Greymane, and seek to mend things with Sylvanas but he has done nothing. Now I know what Gul'dan is doing, it means the leadership of the next attack against the Legion has fallen upon my unwilling shoulders. So, Modera, I will do what I must to hold every advantage, even if it means having to withhold information from the others, for now."

Modera lifted an eyebrow but chose to keep her thoughts to herself.

Kalec nodded at Khadgar. "I agree with Khadgar's decision, it is for the greater good. We don't have the luxury of time to persuade them to get along. We can tell the truth later and face the consequences once Azeroth is safe."

"Then we are in agreement?" Khadgar asked, impatient to begin.

"I will go along with it, but I don't like it," Modera admitted. "I have a bad feeling this is going to come back to haunt the Kirin Tor in a way the Council may never recover from. If Jaina hears about this—"

"We'll worry about that if it happens," Khadgar snapped. He had forgotten about Jaina. She would be a massive problem should she decide to make a reappearance while Sylvanas was in residence. He pushed the worrying possibility aside, continuing, "I realise I am risking much. We might even be cast out. As for me, it is a chance I am willing to take, unless you have a better idea how to motivate the factions to reside in one place, and begin to work together to stop what is to come?"

Modera pressed her lips together and shook her head.

"Then let us proceed. Kalec, can you make arrangements for Malfurion? There is one thing I must do before I speak to the Council. I will be back in two hours, have them meet me here."

Kalec nodded, and moved to the door. Khadgar murmured a quick spell and the barrier against eavesdroppers vanished. Kalec and Modera departed, subdued, lost in their own thoughts. As he waited for Malfurion to be taken away, he paced the length of his office, trying to organise his thoughts. There was so much to do, and only one chance to get it right.

A quiet knock at his door brought his attention back to the present. Two burly liveried attendants entered the room carrying a stretcher, they knelt and hefted Malfurion onto it and left, unobtrusive. Khadgar waited until he could no longer hear their booted footsteps in the hallway before closing the door and sealing the space from prying eyes and ears once more.

He went to the centre of the room and cast a teleportation spell. The structure of his office shifted and blurred, morphing into another room, just as elegant and well appointed, but instead of just the three bookshelves which adorned his office, the walls of this room lay lined from floor to ceiling, and wall to wall with shelves, laden with ancient tomes. The letters upon the spines of those nearest to him glowed, resonating to the presence of their master. He smiled. Karazhan. It was good to be back. He pressed on, he had no time to dawdle if he was going to make it back to his office within two hours.

He went to the door. Several books fluttered after him, eager to greet him. He shook his head, and sent them back to their places, warning where he was going would not be safe for them. Their pages rustled, indignant, but they settled back into their positions, their glowing letters fading as they returned to their deep slumber.

Khadgar sighed, longing for the days when he had had time to spend here, just learning. There was still so much he did not know, so many books he longed to read. After Medivh fell, and evil began to encroach the fortress, Khadgar had rushed to save what books he could from Medivh's vast libraries. He hadn't had much time, and had had to leave many volumes behind, some of them utterly irreplaceable. He had worked night and day, eating and drinking conjured food as his reach into the halls of the fortress lessened. He had had seven days of reclamation before he had had to flee, taking this portion of Medivh's home with him. When he departed, he had sat on the floor of the library and grieved the loss of so many books and artefacts. The surviving books had gathered around him, mournful, missing their companions. But at least he had this, a small piece of Karazhan's glittering past, untainted by the darkness his misguided master had brought to Azeroth.

He left the library, and hastened down the corridor to another door. He cast a rune, which matched the engraved panel set in the wall beside the door and uttered a spell. The rune descended onto the engraving. Blue light shimmered across the door's panels, breaking the seal protecting it. The thick door creaked open. A heavy shower of dust fell from the lintel onto Khadgar's shoulders and head. He coughed and shook his head, the dust cascading down around him, sparkling in the light of the room's arcane torches. In the middle of the small circular room, a plain stone font stood in the centre, its base unembellished, stark, and ancient.

He approached it, wary. Inside the flattened basin, a metallic silver surface lay perfectly still. He peered into it. A ripple broke the meniscus as it stirred from its long period of quiet. Khadgar felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Despite knowing there was no one else there, he looked back at the door, defensive. He had chosen to take this section of Karazhan, because it had long been concealed by Medivh to hide this very room. Not even Moroes had known of this place.

When Khadgar had fled, he had covered the breach with magic, and sealed the small wing of Karazhan outside of time and space. It was his secret, and only he knew the way in. But underneath all his power and abilities, he was still a man, and could not ignore his deepest instincts. Even though he had only taken a small part of Karazhan with him, there were a lot of rooms he had not been in for years, and though he knew he was being irrational, it made him nervous. He closed the door, and cast another seal upon it. Better.

He had taken a huge risk by keeping this room. Medivh had said the font was much older than the War of the Ancients, had likely belonged to the Faceless Ones, followers of the Old Gods. Medivh had found it during one of his journeys. Recognising its latent power, he claimed it for himself, and placed it within his own home. _Partly to make sure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands, and partly because I wanted it for myself,_ he had said when he had showed it to Khadgar. _What does it do?_ Khadgar had asked. But Medivh had just smiled and said that was a lesson for another day, far in the future.

Well, now Khadgar knew. Fortunately, he had managed to salvage—by sheer, blind luck—exactly the book he needed to learn what the font was used for. Medivh's notes had been impeccable and detailed, if difficult to understand. It had taken the reading of seven more tomes to puzzle out the more obscure notations. The font had several uses, some of them quite dangerous, but for what Khadgar wanted to do, it was benign enough, so long as he did not stay too long. Hence, the two hours. It would force him to pay attention to the time.

He pulled his pocket watch from his pouch, and checked the time. He would allow himself an hour, no more. He began casting several spells at once, for protection. Runes encircled him, spinning and rotating around him, enclosing him in a web of intricate blue light. He tested its power, and tried to fall, the light took his weight and held him upright. Satisfied all was as it should be, he took a deep breath, and cast another spell, this one was going to hurt. It hit him, like a wall of icy fire. He shuddered, and stepped free of the web, leaving his body behind. He was totally transparent, invisible even to himself, yet he could still feel. He reached into his pocket, and found the watch. He touched the watch's face, and saw the time in his mind's eye. Good. Everything was ready. Just one final step. The most unpleasant one of all.

He walked around to the back of the font, and ascended the four stone steps leading up to the basin. Upon the top step he looked across the room at himself, standing immobile within the web he had cast. He looked tired, and angry, the pale blue light highlighted the two diagonal scars across his face, giving him the appearance of a warrior, not a mage. He might have aged enough internally to have caught up to his appearance after all these years, (when he was twenty, he had rather liked the sudden transformation from a chubby cheeked lad to the mature, chiselled features of a man in his mid forties), but he had never gotten used to his silver hair. He still hated that, he had had such nice hair too. He touched the watch again, involuntarily. He was wasting time, and he knew why. What he was about to do was going to give him answers he was not sure he was going to want to learn, but he had to. For the sake of Azeroth, he needed to press on.

Though there was no reason for him to do so, he held his breath as he stepped into the silvered surface of the font. The metallic liquid swirled and lapped around the outline of his feet. He used his mind to cast the incantation he had learned from Medivh's notes, and entered time itself.

In the chaos of the channels of time, he focussed his mind. _The Vault of the Wardens, the day Illidan's body was stolen. Take me there_.

In a heartbeat he was there, in the depths of the Vault, watching Gul'dan carry Illidan's inert body towards a portal. He followed them, undetectable by even the strongest magic. He passed his earlier self as he called out to Cordana Felsong, trying to stop her. She insulted him and went through her portal. Khadgar waited until Gul'dan stepped into his, and slipped in after him.

The portal's light cleared. Just as he had suspected. The Chamber of the Eye. Good. Gul'dan leaned on his staff, waiting for the Eredar to drag groups of Nightborne men, women and children into the Chamber. The demons pushed the terrified elves into the centre of a circle of fel runes, and began casting their incantations. Khadgar forced himself to watch as the souls of the living elves were ripped away both to power the portal to the Nether and to prepare Illidan's body for his resurrection as Sargeras's avatar. More Nightborne were brought in, shivering and crying, begging for mercy. Khadgar fast forwarded through time, until the portal was completed, and Gul'dan began to send tethers into it, attached to his staff.

One by one, the tethers returned, flailing and writhing, holding a little piece of light in their maws. Khadgar watched, in morbid fascination as Gul'dan cast an incantation upon the light, before sending the foul green tethers burrowing into Illidan's torso. The Betrayer's body flinched with each invasion, shuddering, reflexive, once more falling inert as soon as the tether pulled free.

It was slow, painstaking work, but Gul'dan worked night and day, relentless, eating through lives and souls at an astonishing pace. How many had died? Hundreds, thousands even. Khadgar had seen enough, it was time to find a way in.

He left the room and travelled through the twisting corridors. It was a maze. He traced and retraced his steps trying to familiarise himself with the layout, but no matter which way he went, he always ended up back in the Chamber of the Eye. Claustrophobia began to claw at him. He touched the face of his watch. He cursed, as he realised he had already lost half the time he had allotted himself.

Once more in the Chamber, he watched another half-starved group of Nightborne elves being brought in. During his fruitless search, Khadgar hadn't found any holding areas for Gul'dan's victims. Where were they coming from? The Eredar escort left. Khadgar followed the demon through the Chamber's only exit and up the main spiralling tunnel to a dead end. The Eredar stopped in front of it. Khadgar eyed the wall. There was nothing special about it. No markings, no runes, not even a torch nearby. The demon held up its hand and muttered an incantation. The wall vanished. Ahead, the stone tunnel narrowed, its ceiling and walls lit by fel torches, glowed a sickly green in the dripping gloom.

Uneasy, Khadgar followed the Eredar. He looked back just as the wall closed over again. The Eredar pressed on, focussed on its task. The tunnel descended deeper into the ground for several minutes, then began to make a steep incline. Khadgar followed the demon up a long flight of steps carved from the living stone. The stairs ended at another dead end. The Eredar muttered another incantation and the wall vanished. Not wishing to be left behind Khadgar hastened after him into the ruins of a collapsed Nightborne temple, which appeared to have fallen into an underground cavern. High above, in between the cavern's broken ceiling, Khadgar glimpsed a slice of sky, marred by the roiling of fel energy emanating from the spires of the Tomb of Sargeras.

Cries of terror rose up from the Nightborne bound together in chains of fel. Khadgar stared across the vast space, incredulous. There were hundreds of them. How many had he seen die already? Before he had sped up time, three hundred, at least. He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists. How he longed to intervene, and help these innocents, but, he reminded himself, grim: This is the past, these people are already long dead.

The Eredar went to the nearest group of Nightborne who scuttled away, crying out in desperation, pleading not to be taken. Fel energy crackled from the Eredar's hands, and bindings wrapped around their necks, linking them together, forcing them to follow him. Impervious to their desolation, the demon led them into the tunnel, the wall sealing over behind them. His time drawing short, Khadgar hastened through the cavern searching for a way out. There, in the shadows, a tunnel opening. He moved into it and crept alongside a river of fel lava, the tunnel's walls glowing a lurid green. He followed several twists and turns before the tunnel finally gave way to open sky.

Khadgar found himself on the beach of a wide bay, surrounded by high rock walls. A small contingent of demons—lesser ones by the look of them—herded Nightborne captives into groups. A little girl, holding a grimy stuffed toy murloc, panicked and ran, trying to get away. The nearest demon glanced up, and flicked its hand at her. A bolt of fire flew from its clawed fingers. One moment she was there, running, her eyes wide and fearful, clutching her toy against her chest; the next, she was gone, vaporised. Fresh screams rose up from the prisoners, but the demons ignored them. Anger seared into Khadgar, hot and dangerous. He fought it. He could change nothing. She was already long gone. They all were.

He crossed the bay to a sandy beach. Pleasure ships of the nobility clustered in the shallow harbour, offloading their cargo of Nightborne citizens. He stared, sickened, as the Royal Guard of Suramar pushed their own people into the waters of the inlet, laughing, cruel, at their pleas for help.

Another wave of anger threatened to undo him. He fought it. He could not allow his emotions to rule him while using the font, it was too dangerous. He forced himself to focus on getting his bearings. He looked up, in the distance across breadth of the Broken Shore, to his left, Dalaran's floating city beckoned, its spires shining in the clean light of the sun. Just in front of him the blackened, fel-laced Tomb of Sargeras loomed. If the Shore was between him and Dalaran, that put him to the east of the Tomb. Well there was only one place that lay to its east—the small island called Hope's End. His thoughts skidded to a halt. Wasn't this where Tirion was supposed to be held?

Khadgar touched his watch. He had fifteen minutes left, enough time to do a quick search before he retraced his steps back into the Chamber of the Eye. He hurried back from the crowded shoreline and climbed up onto a rock shelf, where he could get a better view. He scanned the bay, his eyes narrowed, as he fast forwarded through time. The boats coming and going lessened, and the numbers of Nightborne captives fell to a trickle. The beach emptied. There. What was that? He stepped back into time and approached a vast runic circle set in the centre of the bay. In its centre stood a large fel crystal. There was something within it. Khadgar moved closer. He gaped. Tirion? It couldn't be. The person trapped inside, immobile _was_ Tirion. The Knights of the Silver Hand had been right after all.

Tirion opened his eyes, and looked right at Khadgar. Unsettled, Khadgar moved to the side, assuming the Highlord was looking through Khadgar at something behind him. Tirion's eyes followed him. A chill rose up within Khadgar. Somehow, impossibly, the Highlord _could_ see him. Tirion's voice, filled with pain, entered Khadgar's mind,.

 _Khadgar. The Light will go on, even once she is gone._

Khadgar blinked, astonished. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but Tirion's eyes dulled and closed. Khadgar shook his head, disheartened. He had no idea what Tirion was talking about. Who was the 'she' he was referring to? Tyrande?

Seven minutes left. Khadgar backed away from Tirion, filled with regret. He longed to stay with him until the end, but Tirion's words made Khadgar nervous, filling him with urgency to continue his investigation. He hastened back into the tunnel to the cavern containing the collapsed temple. He reversed time until an Eredar opened the way, and followed it back into the Chamber. He had four minutes left. He sped time up again. A flash of light filled his vision. He entered time once more. Tyrande hung, inert, in front of the creature that was once Illidan. Brilliant orange tendrils, glowing like fire, held her place before him. She wore a fantastic gown, made of the creature's light, which shifted and changed, presumably driven by the creature's thoughts. The creature—itself spread-eagled and bound with fel tethers—stroked her face with tendrils of its energy drifting from its chest.

Khadgar had no idea what he was looking at, was the thing still Illidan, or was it part Illidan, part Sargeras? His fingers on his watch, aware of his own dwindling time, he watched the nascent avatar, waiting for its transformation. He needed to know how much time Azeroth had left before Sargeras's avatar was complete. Despite tens of dozens of green tethers flashing in and out of him, nothing happened. Wait. No. Dread clawing at him, Khadgar slowed time and changed position so he faced Tyrande. By the Light. The tethers were not going into Illidan but Tyrande. He watched horrified, as her transformation proceeded. Slow at first, it gained momentum until she was almost unrecognisable. He backed away. The creature before him was beautiful and terrible. A goddess transformed into a demon.

He understood now. Tyrande was being made into Sargeras's consort—and Tyrande was bound to Elune. Horror filled Khadgar as the implication of what Sargeras intended unfolded. The 'she' Tirion had spoken of wasn't Tyrande, it was Elune. Sargeras was draining Elune's Light through her connection to Tyrande in the Nether. The Dark Titan had captured a goddess, and was draining her Light. Sickened, Khadgar stumbled away from the pair. It was too much, how could he, a mere mortal, stop this, if a goddess could not defend herself against Sargeras, how could Khadgar defend Azeroth? Despair welled up within him. He needed more time.

He felt the pull of the font, dragging him back. He sped time up, as fast as he dared. He had to know before he returned how much time he had left before all hope was gone. Tyrande's transformation completed, and Illidan followed after, morphing into a dreadlord. The tethers fell away, and together the pair stepped through a massive portal onto the Broken Shore. The last thing Khadgar saw was Dalaran, consumed by flames falling from the sky.

The Chamber disappeared. Grey silence followed. A heartbeat later he rose up out of the font. He stepped out onto the top step, the silver liquid sliding away, pooling back into the basin. He returned to his body. His hands trembling, he cast a spell, opened the sealed door and swept out of the room back to the library. He was glad he had an hour to spare, he would need the time to do some research before meeting the Council.

They had a month. No more. After that, Azeroth would fall.


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

* * *

Within the solitude of his hidden library, Khadgar sorted through the tomes he had summoned, searching for the answer he sought. A glass of conjured wine floated in the air beside him. He waved his hand and leafed through the volume hovering before him.

Finding something interesting, he caught the glass and drank deep, letting the alcohol soothe his tattered nerves. Before he knew it, the wine was gone. He conjured another glass, craving more, something about the latent magic soaked into Karazhan's walls improved even the most basic spell.

Lost deep in thought, he read through the pages, seeking a powerful enough spell to break the wards sealing the entrance and exit to the tunnel leading from the collapsed temple in Hope's End to the Chamber of the Eye. There had to be a spell which could overcome what he had seen, but so far . . . nothing.

Ideally, they would go in quietly, imitating the spells used by the Eredar. Khadgar sighed, and sent another book back its shelf. The wards on the tunnel were powerful. From what he'd sensed, he would need arcane power strong enough to match Gul'dan's fel. Khadgar sat back, and gazed up into the tower, filled with books. There had to be a way. He just had to find the right book. But that was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

A sound, behind him. He turned and listened, footsteps. No, he wasn't imagining things. Someone was here. He caught sight of a shadow behind one of the bookshelves. He threw up a shield as blue light exploded from his hands. A strangled cry, and a woman fell on all fours, scrabbling at her neck, suffocating. He stared, astonished. What the . . .

"Idira! How in the name of—? Oh!" He ended the spell with an abrupt gesture and rushed over to her. She fell back onto her backside, massaging her throat, sucking in air. Tears streamed down her face.

"Forgive me, I thought you were someone else. Are you alright?"

She nodded and looked up, pale and trembling. He fell back onto his haunches. Her eyes. He could lose himself in them. He looked away, wishing he had not had so much wine. He stood and held out his hand, helping her up.

"How did you get into my office?" he asked, sharper than he meant to.

"The door was open," she answered, wary, her voice husky.

He shook his head. "Impossible. I locked, sealed and warded it."

"Well, it was open for me," she shrugged and looked around, curious. "What is this place?"

"Never mind that, how did you even get in here?"

"There was a doorway, like a portal, I walked into it. I was looking for you."

He felt his chest tighten. She was looking for him. Why did he like the sound of that so much? Once more, he cursed his earlier imbibing, it was stopping him from thinking straight. He took hold of her elbow. "Show me how you got in here."

Looking at him like he was crazy, she led him back to where he had stepped through his teleport. There was nothing there. He arched an eyebrow at her, waiting. She sighed and stepped forward. She disappeared. He turned full circle. She must have cast blink. He called her name, annoyed. This was no time for games, he had work to do.

"Yes?" she answered, her voice faint, as though speaking from a great distance.

"Where are you?"

"In your office. In Dalaran. Can't you see me? I can see you." She sounded perplexed, and a little scared.

"Come back to me, if you can."

She stepped through the air, materialising before him. He stepped back, incredulous.

She smiled, shy. "You look surprised."

"I am. What you are doing even I cannot do."

She turned and looked into the empty air. "What do you mean? Can't you see the portal into your office? It's right here." Her arm disappeared up to her elbow.

Disturbed, he grabbed hold of her waist and pulled her away from the invisible rent. He didn't like the idea of something going wrong, and her losing her arm. "Don't do that, it's dangerous."

She came up against him, caught inside the crook of his arm. Her hair smelled like roses. "Alright. I'm sorry, I didn't know." She stepped away, oblivious to what she had just done to him, looking around, her eyes bright. "I like it here. There is so much power. It makes me feel strong . . . like I can do anything."

As she walked along a row of shelves, several books fluttered free and approached her, curious. She reached out, entranced, and touched them. At her touch, the books glowed bright blue. Others slipped free, and surrounded her. Soon she was lost in a torrent of books, circling her, clamouring for her attention. Violet light glowed in her eyes, becoming so bright Khadgar had to turn away.

He fell back into the shadows of a bookshelf and let the books satisfy their curiosity. They wouldn't go to just anyone. He heard Idira laughing, delighted. A dark thought crossed his mind. What if . . . No. Could it be? He tried to stop the thought but it pushed its way forward, settling at the front of his mind. What if she could open the way into the Chamber of the Eye? Her power was astonishing, certainly if she could use echoes of magic, she would be able to open the way in total silence into Gul'dan's lair. It seemed too good to be true, for her to arrive just when he needed her abilities.

He stopped, his suspicions rising. It _was_ too good to be true. Who was she really? She had come out of nowhere. What if she was a demon, hiding among the Kirin Tor, biding her time to destroy the city from within . . . and now she was in his private sanctuary drinking in the knowledge of his books.

Alarmed, he called out the tomes, ordering them back to their places. They fled, rustling, indignant, leaving her standing alone once more. She looked at him, uneasy. He strode back to her, his hands crackling with arcane power.

She stepped back, frightened. "What—?"

He threw a barrier around her, enclosing her. He raised his arm and she lifted from the ground, hanging suspended before him. "Who are you?"

She gaped at him, as though he had gone mad. "I told you, I am Idira, from Westfall."

"Whom do you serve?"

"I . . . No one? You?"

He roared, increasing his power. "I do not believe you. You are demon, pretending to be one of us. No more will you hide the truth from me!"

Her eyes widened, fearful. "Archmage?"

He let go of a blinding bolt of blue. It smashed into her through the barrier. She juddered as it crackled across her body, burning her. She screamed, writhing in agony. Not a drop of fel green showed through. He staggered, filled with disbelief. She wasn't a demon after all. Driven by suspicion and haste, he had attacked an innocent woman—he had been so certain his spell would reveal the fel in her.

He swept up his staff, casting the spell to free her. She screamed, thrashing, desperate to escape, fearing another onslaught. Her violet eyes met his, filled with anguish. Violet light pulsed around her. She cried out as the light gathered, rotating around her torso, building in intensity. It burst outwards, a wall of burning light, throwing him back against the bookshelves. The barrier collapsed, and she fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Khadgar crept towards her, his tunic smoking. He reached out, cautious, and touched her, fearing he had killed her.

She lay on her side, facing away from him. He rolled her onto her back. She still breathed, thank the Light. He picked her up and carried her to his quarters. Once there, he dithered where to put her, the sofa or his bed. The bed was more comfortable. He laid her down. She looked so small and vulnerable. How could he have ever thought her a demon? He found a blanket and covered her, guilt riding him hard.

He withdrew to the other side of the room and paced bakc and forth, unsure what to do with her. Should he keep her here, and let no one know about her, or should he bring her back to Dalaran where the truth about her powers would be revealed. He continued pacing, keeping an eye on her, waiting for her to revive.

He decided he couldn't risk it, she would have to stay here. She could study in the library, he already knew she would have no trouble getting the books to come to her. Within these powerful walls, she could learn to control her powers faster than anywhere else. He would be able to visit her every day, without anyone knowing. It would work. She would be Azeroth's secret weapon. He nodded, satisfied. He had a plan.

He turned, and found Idira sitting up, watching him, afraid.

He went to her. Frightened, she scuttled backwards and pressed herself against the bed's headboard. He knelt beside her, the leather of his boots creaking in the quiet. "Forgive me Idira. I have done great wrong against you. I will make it right, somehow."

"You called me a demon."

He winced. "I did. You have power unlike anything I have ever seen before. We are living in very dark times. You came out of nowhere, you have no family, and you have incomprehensible powers. You managed to breach my domain without any effort. I did what I thought right to protect Azeroth."

"You attacked me," she shuddered. "It still hurts."

He nodded, guilt crashing into him once more. "If you wish, you may hurt me back."

She shook her head. "Never. You are the Archmage."

"What if I told you it would make me feel better?"

Her eyes came to his. She bit her lower lip. He suppressed a groan. _Why_ did she have to do that?

"You _want_ to feel pain?" she asked, confused.

"Yes." He left the bed, and went to the centre of the room. He set aside his staff. "Physical pain will help numb the guilt I feel for what I have done to you." He nodded at her. "Go ahead, I deserve it."

He waited, bracing himself. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Nothing happened. She slumped back onto the bed and shook her head. "I cannot."

"You cannot or you will not?" he asked, gentle.

"I cannot. I . . . don't know how."

He nodded. "Then I will wait until you are able. I won't let you forget." He took up his staff. "I know I do not deserve to ask for your trust after what I have done to you, but I would like you to stay here and study, instead of in Dalaran. You are safer here under my care."

She lifted an eyebrow at him, dubious. "Am I?"

He deserved that. He sighed. "I will come back later with food, real food, not the conjured variety. For now, I must go, I am already late." She didn't say anything. He went to the door.

She came after him. "Wait. I am afraid to be here on my own. Please, let me come with you back to Dalaran, I won't tell anyone about what you did."

He knew he was asking much of her, if only she knew how important she had become to him—and to Azeroth—how important it was he protected her, and kept her a secret.

"What if I left a part of me here with you, would that help?"

Her brow furrowed. "An image?"

He cast a spell, and his staff blazed with light. Idira trembled, but stood her ground. A raven flew out of the light and landed on the back of a chair. She went to it. It walked over to her and hopped onto her shoulder. She looked up, confused. "A raven?"

"Ah this is no ordinary raven, I can see through its eyes, and hear through its ears. If you are in trouble, or need me, just call to me. You are never alone, so long as you keep my raven with you."

She held up her arm. It moved onto it. She held it up, examining it, uncertain. "Can it protect me?"

"No, but I can. Nothing in this fortress can harm you, however. You will see. The library is straight down the hall. Once you are feeling better, why not return? The books seemed to like you very much. They will teach you what you need to know, much faster than I can."

She reached into her gown, and fished in a pocket. She held out his ring. "The guards called me a thief. They chased me back to your office. I couldn't understand why they didn't follow me through the door. I think I know why now—they couldn't, could they?"

Khadgar watched her drop the ring into his upturned hand. "No. But they saw _you_ go through a sealed door. I will deal with them." He opened his pouch and placed the ring back inside. "Perhaps now you see why it is best for you to stay here? In this place no one will judge you, or punish you. You are safe here."

She took hold of his arm, her touch sending tingles up his spine. "Promise you will come back to me."

He covered her hand with his. "I promise, Idira. I won't leave you alone."

He knew his words meant more to him than they did to her, but it didn't matter. Ever since he'd carried her to the bed, he'd felt himself falling for her, his heart plummeting towards a place it had no right to be. Despite the world coming apart and the threats facing Azeroth rising to the insurmountable, the feelings she had begun to ignite in him made him feel more alive than he ever had before. Was this love? He had no idea—no one had ever done this to him before—but whatever was happening to him, there was nothing he could do to stop it, and, he realised, he didn't want it to, anyway.

He looked at her one last time as he cast a teleportation spell back to his office, the last thing he saw her do was bite her lip. He closed his eyes, knowing if anyone was in need of protection, it was him who needed protecting from her.

* * *

Back in his office, Khadgar hastened to remove the seals and wards enclosing his office. He opened the door. Outside, the other Archmages of the Council waited, talking quietly amongst themselves. He nodded in greeting, stepping back so they could enter. They filed in, looking around his office, suspicious. Modera caught his eye, hers full of accusation. He almost rolled his eyes. What now? He waited until they had settled on the sofas.

He smiled. "I apologise for keeping you waiting."

Modera brushed an invisible speck of dust from her robe and fired the opening salvo. "There is no need to apologise, it was only a matter of minutes. But I think I speak for all of us when I ask, where is the apprentice?"

Khadgar cleared his throat, uneasy. The others watched him, their faces veiled, judging him. Even Kalec's expression betrayed his disapproval. Khadgar stalled for time. "Apprentice?"

Modera stood and walked up to him, answering in a low voice. "Do not make this worse for yourself. You warded yourself in here, and the young woman who was in here earlier—the one who fled when we arrived—was caught with your ring at the library, claiming you gave it to her. She fled, and ran back here, where she walked straight through your door—a door which none of us, alone or together could open."

Khadgar sighed. He hadn't counted on the guards raising the alarm to the other Archmages, but then why would they not?

"Alright. I have hidden her away, somewhere safe. She cannot remain in Dalaran, for reasons I assume you have intuited."

Modera scoffed and crossed her arms. Kalec spoke up, his tone heavy with recrimination. "You know it is forbidden to take an apprentice as a companion. What you are doing is wrong, Khadgar, and unless you can convince us this is not what it looks like, we are prepared to remove you from the Council."

Khadgar moved back to the door, and began casting the same wards he had used before. The others came to their feet, defensive. "How do you think she got through the wards?" he asked, over his shoulder.

Karlain answered, in his deep, quiet voice. "Your ring, we presumed."

Khadgar pulled the ring from his pouch and held it out to Karlain. "Please. Take it. Pass through my wards."

Karlain took the ring, and examined it, to ensure it was the ring in question. Satisfied, he nodded at the others. The ring enclosed in his fist, he went to the door, and pulled on the door handle. The handle didn't move. He pulled harder. The door remained warded.

Modera held out her hand to Karlain. "Let me try."

She put the ring on, and tried the door. Nothing. She turned and looked at Kalec, perplexed. Kalec came next and tried, as did Ansirem, and finally Vargoth. Khadgar took the ring back from Vargoth.

"I was as astonished as the guards must have been when she just walked through my wards. In fact, I was so startled, I almost killed her."

The others shifted, embarrassed, none of them meeting his eyes. Kalec had the decency to look ashamed. Modera, however, pressed on, angry. She pointed at the door. "Then how do you explain what she did, if not the ring, what powers could she have used?"

Khadgar shook his head. "I haven't been able to explain it yet. She doesn't even know what she did. What I can tell you is this, Idira carries power not seen since the age of the Guardians. I do not intend to let her abilities go to waste. She will be key in our fight against the Legion."

Karlain shook his head. "Someone with so much power could be a danger to us, as well."

Khadgar felt himself stiffen, as the others nodded, concurring. Modera said what the he knew the others were thinking. "You cannot keep her isolated from us, we need to test her. If we deem her controllable, we can all take a hand in her training, and—"

"There is no time," Khadgar interrupted, becoming angry. This was not what he wanted to be talking about, far greater issues needed the Council's attention. Modera glared at him, seething. What was wrong with her? Her cheeks had become flushed, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Kalec touched her shoulder, but she shook him off. Khadgar's thoughts scudded to a halt as she approached him, her emotions plain to see. Through her anger, jealousy flashed in her eyes. He caught Kalec and Karlain watching her, pitying her. They _knew_. Khadgar shook his head. How could he have been so blind?

"Where is she, Khadgar?" Modera snapped, fractious.

"Somewhere safe," Khadgar answered, equally sharp. "Enough of this. While I was away, I have learned what Gul'dan is doing with Tyrande, and also, more importantly, I have discovered a backdoor into the Chamber of the Eye from Hope's End—or would you rather we continued to argue some more about the apprentice?"

Modera drew a sharp breath and went to the balcony, quivering, her hands on her hips. Khadgar let her be. The others looked away, uncomfortable at having witnessed Modera's humiliation. Khadgar took his seat behind the desk and rubbed his forehead, trying to soothe the pain growing behind his eyes. One by one the Council members moved back to their seats. After a long, tense silence, Modera returned and sat beside Kalec, impassive.

Kalec broke the silence. "How did you discover these things, then?"

"I followed Gul'dan through the portal the day he took Illidan's body from the Vault."

"You stepped outside of time?" Karlain asked. "To involve Chromie without our knowledge is a breach—"

"Chromie was not involved," Khadgar said, irritable. "You might recall I trained under a Guardian."

The Council members shifted, uneasy. Any mention of Medivh always made them so. He ignored them. He wasn't proud of having used the font, but desperate times . . .

Vargoth cleared his throat. "I think, perhaps we have judged Khadgar enough for one day. I for one, would like to hear him out."

"As would I," Ansirem muttered, shooting a meaningful look at Modera.

Kalec and Karlain nodded in agreement. Khadgar glanced at Modera. She returned his look, implacable, hostile. He shook his head and stood up. "Very well."

He cast a spell, filling the room with the images he had seen while travelling within the font. He said nothing, letting the others draw their own conclusions. They watched, horrified by the things he had only recently witnessed for himself. When the child was struck down, Khadgar caught Modera blinking back tears.

When they saw Tirion, there was a collective gasp of disbelief, followed by murmurs of regret and sorrow. But their true horror was evidenced when he let them see what was being done to Tyrande, held captive in the tendrils of the thing that was to become Sargeras's avatar. He waited until they watched Illidan's transformation, then ended the projection. A heavy silence permeated his office.

Modera stood up, pale and trembling. "Forgive me, Khadgar. I should have trusted you."

He nodded, accepting her apology. "In this time of great danger, the Council must not become divided like the rest of Azeroth. We must stand together, united, or we all will fall."

Karlain stood up. "Tell us what we must do." The others came to their feet after him. Khadgar gave them their instructions: gather the leaders of the Horde and Alliance and bring them to Dalaran. Kalec pointed out the others were not in danger from what they could see from Khadgar's projection. Surprisingly, it was Modera who first saw the wisdom of his deception.

"Khadgar says we have one month at the most. How else shall we convince them to unite together for another assault in such a short period of time?"

"We can't," Ansirem answered, grim. "We can make restitution later, when Azeroth is free of the Legion. Until then, I say we do whatever is necessary."

Kalec rubbed his hand over his jaw. "I don't wish to bring up a sore point, but you mentioned Idira has a key part to play in our fight. She is an untried apprentice, which causes me to have some reservations about her having so much importance. I think it is within my rights to know what part you intend her play."

Modera nodded, her face taut. The others murmured their agreement.

Khadgar cast another projection, playing out a scenario. "The tunnel under the channel between Hope's End and the Chamber of the Eye is warded by dark, powerful magic in two places. To get past it, we would need to use massive arcane bombs."

"Which would alert the Legion to our presence, bringing the full fury of all their forces upon us," Vargoth surmised before the scenario finished.

Khadgar gave him a curt nod, continuing, "Our most important objective after getting the faction leaders settled in Dalaran is to get into the Chamber of the Eye quietly and quickly. We need to get Illidan and Tyrande's bodies out of there. Without them, the Legion will be set back to the beginning, granting us the time we need to regroup and attack once more. Gul'dan and Sargeras are counting on their plan to succeed. I am counting on stopping it."

"And Idira?" Modera asked, tense.

Khadgar met her eyes. "She is able to pass through echoes of magic."

Modera looked perplexed. He explained. "To travel through time, I needed to go elsewhere. I made a teleport and left this office. Not only could Idira walk straight through my wards, she was able to use my teleport long after it was gone."

The Archmages gaped, incredulous. He waited.

Karlain recovered first. "No. Impossible."

"I saw her do it with my own eyes, disturbing as it was. As I said before, I have no idea where her power is coming from, but it is powerful. And right now, she is the greatest gift we have. It is as though Azeroth has created her, and sent her to us just for this very purpose."

"She could be a demon and is deceiving you," Ansirem suggested.

Khadgar took a deep breath and forced himself to tell them what he had done to her.

"Again. I am sorry to have doubted you, Khadgar," Modera shook her head. "That poor woman, it seems all the Kirin Tor has done to her is punish and torment her."

Kalec had been quiet for a long time, lost in his thoughts, his arms crossed over his chest. He started, and uncrossed them. "What if—" he began. He shook his head, catching himself, "No. No. It's so unlikely."

Khadgar didn't care how unlikely it was. Kalec had been in Azeroth for thousands of years, anything he thought was worth listening to. "Let us hear it anyway."

Kalec looked up, and scratched his cheek, suddenly reticent. "It's just, well, she looks a little like Aegwynn did. I only ever saw her once, however."

Khadgar felt the pressure in his head begin to lessen. Of course. Aegwynn's magic could not die, even if her body had. Her powers had just remained latent in Azeroth, until the time was right for another to bear the burden of such power. Poor Idira. Aegwynn was a titan among mages, and had defeated Sargeras once all by herself. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Idira to grow up alone in Westfall, having to carry the weight of such power, alienated and untrained. How lonely she must have been.

Khadgar suppressed the urge to hasten the others from his office so he could test Kalec's theory. Beside the physical similarities, Idira would have gained latent memories from Aegwynn's life, he was certain of it. How appropriate her energy had returned just when Sargeras's threat had become real again.

"Khadgar?" Modera's voice pulled him back to the present.

"Hm?"

"I asked you what you thought. Could she be carrying Aegwynn's power?"

Khadgar nodded. "It is possible. I will have to find out. If she is, she will have memories, or at least dreams which will be of Aegwynn's life."

"Regardless, what is it you intend to do with her, you still haven't said," Karlain pointed out.

"If she can pass through the echoes of magic, then she will be able to pass through the tunnel," Khadgar replied.

"You will have her open the way?" Ansirem asked.

"That is my intention."

"But how?" Ansirem persisted. "Just because she can slip through, it won't change the fact we can't get in without creating a disturbance."

Khadgar thought of the ancient font, standing alone in its cold, dark room. "Leave that to me. I have a plan."


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

* * *

Illidan eyed Tyrande, shuddering within her prison of light. Her gown had burned away. As he watched, a new one made of light wove around her, covering her naked body. But there was nothing arousing in the sight. Her raw flesh bubbled, scorched and bleeding. Each time Tyrande healed him with Elunes's Light, she suffered, the Light burning through her. Once Elune ceased her work on Illidan, her Light would shift to Tyrande, clothing and healing her. A never-ending cycle of pain and healing.

Her head hanging, Tyrande pressed her hands against the sides of the sphere, struggling to hold herself up. Her chest rose and fell, her breasts straining against the material of her gown as she sought to catch her breath. The last burst of Light from Elune had returned the final pieces of his heart to him, though he wasn't sure how much he appreciated it. He drifted closer, and put his hand against the sphere, covering Tyrande's hand with his. He wished he could touch her, hold her. She had given him his strength back, at least enough for him to think straight. Now he wanted to do the same for her.

She must have sensed his presence, because she glanced up, her eyes dull. Her lips moved, and he heard his name whispered on her lips. His heart clenched so tight it ached. He had survived the agony of Gul'dan's tethers, but nothing could compare to this, seeing her suffer—knowing he was the cause of it—and be powerless to stop it. A tear ran down the side of her nose. He smashed his fist against the sphere, bellowing with frustration. Anger, hot and virulent coursed through him. He welcomed it. He wished there was something he could destroy, anything to alleviate his pent-up rage. Even the excruciating pain of a tether would be better than this. But there was nothing here, nothing but his thoughts and hopes Malfurion would be able to recover his body from the Chamber soon, so Tyrande's suffering could end. Until then, all he could do was float, and watch Tyrande scream in agony as she channelled Elune's Light into him, burning in the flames of blue fire.

He looked behind him, searching the Nether for more tethers. It had been a long time since any had come writhing and searching for him. There could no longer be any doubt, the onslaught had stopped. The change had been slow at first, Illidan's hopes growing as the frequency of the tethers decreased. Now only the silence of the Nether accompanied them as they floated together through the vastness of its void. For Tyrande's sake he was glad, it had given her a much needed reprieve. But he had a bad feeling. Gul'dan was up to something, he could sense it, and whatever it was, it wasn't going to make things easier for either him or Tyrande.

He turned back to Tyrande. Her hands slid down the sides of the sphere, she fell, the energy within catching her. She floated, limp, her arms and legs dangling. He realised she had fallen asleep. Good. He hoped Elune would let her rest. He could watch for the tethers, and protect Tyrande. He felt strong enough to take the next ones. He watched her sleep, his hands pressed against the sphere, his arms aching to hold her. After all this time, despite the passage of thousands of years, his long imprisonment, his transformation into a demon hunter and his reign on Outland—even in death—his love for her remained unchanged. There had been others of course, hundreds of them had passed through the doors of his private quarters, eager to please him when he was the Lord of the Black Temple. But they were nothing to him. His heart always returned to her. There could never be another for him.

He waited, scanning the horizon in all directions, but nothing changed. All was as it should be, the spinning planets and steady procession of time streams carried on following their chaotic, incomprehensible paths, oblivious to the pair and the occupations of their little world. He looked back at Tyrande. How long had she been here in the Nether with him, encased in that sphere of pure light? He glanced down at himself. Long enough to bring him back from the edge of darkness.

He shuddered at how close it had been. She had arrived just in time, channelling Elune's Light into him, replacing piece by piece the parts Gul'dan had stolen, giving Illidan strength, and hope. He ran his hands over his chest, stripped of the glowing runes of a demon hunter. It was strange to see himself again as he once was. He had forgotten what he'd looked like, his transformation into a demon hunter had consumed all of him, even his memories of his other self. He had been powerfully built. He was glad, power meant much to him, even here, where it meant nothing. Tyrande turned over in her sleep, and lay curled on her side, her breathing deep and even. He touched the sphere, wishing for the thousandth time no barrier existed between them. She seemed so small. He didn't remember her being so slight. Perhaps it was just a trick of the Nether, or perhaps, what she was doing for him was killing her. His heart clenched at the thought. No. She would not die for him. If anyone would die, he would die for her.

He looked behind him once more, and cursed. Why was it taking so long?

"Brother!" he cried out, angry once more. "How much longer must she suffer?"

* * *

Tyrande dreamed of Illidan. The sphere was gone. In a dark, cavernous room, she hung suspended in the air before him, held in a lover's embrace. But gone was the Illidan of the Nether—the Illidan she had known and loved in the past—once more he was a demon hunter. He hung spread-eagled in front of her, straining against the fel tethers holding his arms and legs in place. The fel runes emblazoned on his chest and arms glowed the colour of fire. His eyes, no longer blindfolded, blazed orange-hot, like the molten heat of burning worlds. His lips curved into a smile, possessive.

 _My love._

Tendrils of light shot out of his chest and touched her face, tender, worshipful. He lifted her up, wrapped within his warm, fiery light, and brought her face to his. Tendrils tilted her head back, catching her chin, so her mouth waited for his. Her heart pounded. She couldn't move, she tried to speak, but nothing came out. She was powerless. His lips touched hers, and the tethers tightened, surrounding her, pulsing with longing, and desire. His kiss burned through her. She tasted fire and heat, passion and destruction. And power. Such power. She groaned, willing him to carry on, now she had tasted his power, she could not live without it. Nothing could compare, not even Elune's Light. Tyrande was finally where she was meant to be. All this time she had forced herself to do what was right, to be with his brother, who loved her, but never enough. In her most secret moments, she had returned to the memory of the one night Illidan had shared with her in the wooded glade, when his passion had taken her to heights she had never known existed.

Tendrils touched her lips, parting them. He kissed her deep, letting her taste him, his tendrils of light sliding around her, enclosing her, caressing her. She sighed as he whispered to her, kissing her face, her eyes, her throat until her whole body ached for him. Though she had tried to hide it from herself, she had always known ever since that stolen night she had belonged to Illidan. Her whole life with Malfurion had been a lie, born out of duty, and of a need to reassure herself she could not love someone like Illidan. But all her running had come to nothing. Illidan was her master, she was his slave. It was over, no more would she fight him. He had won, and now, together they would cleanse Azeroth with fire.

Tyrande woke with a start. She spun around in the sphere, frantic, clawing at its sides, searching for a way out.

"Tyrande?"

Illidan—the old Illidan—floated beside her, once more in the Nether, his hands pressed against the sphere, his expression betraying his rising alarm. She pushed herself to the other side of the sphere, as far as she could get from him and stared at him. How could this be happening? Her dream had been so real. Somehow she could still feel the other Illidan's mouth on hers, even now. She rubbed the back of her hand across her mouth, filled with fear and shame. Why hadn't she resisted?

Illidan moved around the sphere trying to get closer to her. She moved away from him, panting. He cursed. "Tyrande! Talk to me, tell me what is wrong."

She could feel tendrils sliding up the inside of her legs. She recoiled, gibbering, beating at her legs, trying to get rid of them. There was nothing there.

She met Illidan's eyes, and saw her confusion and fear mirrored in his eyes.

"I had a dream, but the dream continues. I can feel it touching me." The tendrils wrapped around her legs again. She screamed and tucked her legs tight against her torso, defensive.

"Illidan! Make it stop. Elune! I cannot bear it. Please, help me. Somebody help me."

It ended, abrupt, as though it could hear her cries. She curled up into a ball, sobbing, her thoughts in tatters. Illidan intended to possess her as his own and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

She stared into the chaos of eternity, despair filling her. Why had she been so willing? She had welcomed him, wanted him, even. It was true they had shared a passionate night together, one she had desperately tried to forget. But the man she had slept with had looked like the Illidan in front of her, not the creature he became. She had never desired Illidan once he became a demon hunter, and couldn't understand how she could have wanted him in her dream. It felt as though her will had not been her own. Her thoughts skidded to a halt, as the last memory of her transition into the Nether replayed in her mind. No, that thing wasn't Illidan the night elf, or Illidan the demon hunter. It was another Illidan, tainted, powerful, mixed with something else. That creature's fel runes had not blazed with fel, but with fire. She choked.

Illidan had become Sargeras. And now he had her.

* * *

Illidan waited for Tyrande to recover. It took a long time. He hung outside her sphere, his palms and forehead pressed against its smooth surface, watching her, searching her for clues, so he could piece together what could have caused the disturbing scene he had just witnessed.

Tyrande was safe in that sphere, nothing could harm her in there. And nothing had gotten in, because he would have stopped it. It had to have been something in her dream—but what sort of dream could affect Tyrande like that? She was the strongest woman he knew.

He caught himself running his fingers against the sphere's smooth surface, as though stroking her hair, somehow the useless act helped soothe him, calm him, and ease his loneliness. He had never seen her so undone. He wondered if her mind had shattered under the intense pressure of being separated from her body. He longed to speak with her, to ask her what she was thinking, to tell him about her dream, so he could help her, but he held his tongue. He would not push her, he knew she would speak when she was ready.

He waited, patient. Hoping Elune wouldn't feel the need to continue healing him just yet. He still had a long way to go to come anywhere close to his full strength, but he was in no hurry to keep going when he saw the price Tyrande was being forced to pay. So long as the tethers had stopped, he was fine right where he was. He turned and leaned his back against the sphere. Perhaps if he wasn't watching her all the time, she might feel better. He crossed his arms over his chest, and looked out over the time streams, trying and failing not to think of Tyrande. A long time passed, he began to feel the tug of sleep. He closed his eyes, and dreamed of her calling his name. It came again, louder.

"Illidan?"

He jerked awake and turned back to the sphere. Tyrande hung in the middle watching him, wary.

"Did you call me?"

She nodded. He waited, his eyes on hers. She looked away, uncomfortable. He realised she didn't want to look at him. He recalled how she had tried to distance herself from him when she had woken up. Had he done something to her in her dream? Her behaviour made no sense. Surely she could see a dream was not real, just a trick of her mind. Once she spoke about it she would feel better. He softened his voice, made ragged from his endless shrieks of pain.

"Tyrande, please tell me what happened. Let me help you overcome this."

"I dreamed of you, you—" she pressed her lips together and blinked, falling back into her thoughts. She shook her head. He pressed his hands against the sphere, willing her to carry on, desperate to understand. What had he done to her? Whatever it was, he could make it right. She just had to tell him, so he could reassure her it had not been him, but an image of him created in her mind.

He almost couldn't bear to ask the question, but she wasn't saying anything. He had to know. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she answered, low. She wrapped her arms around herself, defensive, and half-turned her body from him. She glanced at him, furtive, over her shoulder. "You were tied spread-eagled with fel tethers, but you had fiery tendrils coming out of you. You were holding me in the air. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. You kissed me, you tried to make love to me using the light of the Dark Titan."

He stared at her, understanding, sickened. Her lose of composure, her distress, the things she had cried out; if she could _feel_ it here, it meant it was happening to her there. It was no dream, it was real, and she knew it. He roared, wishing he had his demon hunter form back. He longed for his power, to be able to break free of this place and take his revenge against Gul'dan. The memory of Tyrande panicking, beating at her legs, trying to get something off her replayed in his mind, vivid, visceral. He shuddered. Even he, as Lord of the Black Temple had never once forced himself on his concubines. It was vile.

Illidan pushed away from the sphere and let himself fall away. The sphere containing Tyrande receded into the infinite distance, becoming a speck. Rage consumed him. Where was Malfurion? How could he have let this happen to Tyrande? He screamed, venting his fury into the Nether. It wasn't enough. He tore at his chest, cutting deep into himself, savouring the feel of his blood leaving his body. He needed to feel pain. It wasn't enough he was being transformed into Sargeras's avatar, now the Dark Titan had taken his beloved too, and was using Illidan's body to possess hers. How dare Sargeras violate her? His hands clenched into fists. He screamed, furious, at the nothingness.

He did not need to imagine what she had experienced, he felt it well enough when the pieces of his soul were corrupted by Gul'dan; could feel them being fed into his body, could sense his growing power, and the dangerous seduction of it. Why hadn't he sensed her? Perhaps it was for the best, he didn't want to know what he was doing to her. But it would explain why Gul'dan had stopped sending tethers after Illidan. He had captured a greater prize: Tyrande. It had been a long time since Elune had sent her Light to Illidan, now he knew why. The Goddess didn't want to attract Gul'dan's attention.

In the distance Tyrande's tiny speck of light grew, closing the chasm of space between them. Why? She couldn't help him anymore. Elune had fallen silent, and Gul'dan had both his and Tyrande's bodies in the Chamber, using them for his own purposes. The only hope they had left was for Malfurion to save them. Illidan clenched his jaw, bitter. His useless brother was in over his head. Malfurion couldn't even protect Tyrande when he had her. Illidan would never have let that happen. Tyrande approached, fast. He turned his back to her. He couldn't look at her, so deep was his shame for having tried to violate her. He sensed whatever feelings she had left for him were gone, forever. He wished the tethers would come. He needed the pain, wanted it, anything to distract him from knowing he had lost the only woman he had ever loved.

* * *

"Help me!" Tyrande screamed at Illidan's back. When he didn't turn, she smashed the sphere into him. He spun around, fierce, his hands clenched into fists. She stared, shocked into forgetting the reason she had flown to him. His chest was torn to ribbons, blood covered his torso and arms. She opened her mouth to say something, when a massive tether slammed into the sphere. Its maw opened, sliding over the surface, snapping, seeking a place to grip. Another followed, then another. Unable to grip the sphere, they wrapped around it, and began to drag her across the Nether.

She sensed what was happening before her thoughts caught up. The foul things were taking her to Gul'dan, to her body, and to what was left of Illidan; to Sargeras. She pounded on the sides, trying to shake the things off. Outside, Illidan bellowed, clawing at them. He pulled one free of the sphere, but as soon as he lifted the tether off, it snapped back down in a new place. It was hopeless. They needed Elune's Light. Why wasn't she helping them?

"Elune! Where are you?" Tyrande cried out, sobbing in terror. She could see the portal to the Chamber of the Eye approaching fast. There was almost no time left.

The Light came, burning through her once more. The tethers endured—so close to the portal and the power of Sargeras—resisting Elune's Light. The intensity increased. Tyrande's flesh burned, her entire body seething with Light. The tethers screamed, the sound of souls being extinguished. Light crackled along the tethers' lengths, stretching all the way to the portal and beyond. Elune poured more Light through Tyrande. Tyrande roared, her body incinerating. She became a ball of fire, a star, pure light. The tethers exploded. And for a while, there was nothing.

Tyrande revived quaking with agony. The Light worked to rebuild her broken, ruined body. She could feel the sphere moving, fast, she cracked her eyes open, so deep in pain she couldn't even feel fear. More tethers already? No. Illidan pushed against the sphere, taking them as far from the portal as he could. Tyrande closed her eyes, and let Illidan carry her away, far away from the portal and the one who haunted her dreams.

Illidan was floating beside her when she woke. He looked away, but she knew he had been watching her. The wounds in his chest still seeped blood. He had cut himself deep.

"I am able to sense you in the Chamber now," Illidan said. "Elune may have defeated the tethers, but the Light she used to vanquish them went straight into your body, corrupted. Gul'dan is using Elune's Light to feed me through your body. Together with her Light we are being remade into—"

"Demons," Tyrande finished, bleak. "And what will happen to Elune once her Light is extinguished? Will she become Sargeras's slave through me?" She shuddered. "Illidan, what have we done? Is there nothing we can do to stop this?"

"We keep moving, making it harder for Gul'dan to find you. It's you he wants, not me." He laughed, bitter. "He will finish me off with those tethers of his when he has depleted all the Light from Elune and taken you away. He knows I will have lost the will to fight once I have lost you."

His frankness hit Tyrande hard. She knew he still cared about her, but she hadn't known how much. As much as ever it seemed. He had hidden his feelings well. He swallowed. She watched the movement in his throat. Once, long, long ago she had kissed that throat, as he made love to her. She closed her eyes, willing the memory away.

She pressed her hand against the sphere. "It wasn't you, it was another you, a tainted you. I shouldn't have said it was you."

Illidan's jaw clenched. "He feeds off my love for you, long buried in my body and in the pieces of my soul Gul'dan has stolen. He feeds off it, and torments me with it. But he will not violate you again, because I won't let him. That much at least, I can do to protect you."

Tyrande didn't say anything. He met her eyes and pressed his palm against the sphere, covering her hand with his.

"I could never hurt you Tyrande, I would kill myself first. But I cannot allow you to dismiss my part in what happened to you so easily. I have to accept even though I have no knowledge of it, it was me, at least it was a part of me. Ever since that night we shared, I have never stopped longing for you. I hate myself for what I did to you, I will never forgive myself for it, ever."

"But you stopped, when I cried out, you stopped."

He shook his head, brooding, his remorse palpable through the thick wall of the sphere. "It is not enough."

She couldn't let him suffer, she had to tell him the truth. Her confession came out before she could stop herself. "In my dream I was willing, but when I woke I was not. It was different there, everything was simple. It seemed right. It felt right." He looked up, taut with hope.

She pushed away from the wall, and floated in the middle of the sphere, needing to put space between them.

"I too have not forgotten the time we shared together, although I have tried, oh how I have tried," she murmured, ashamed, yet relieved to finally admit the truth after all this time. "I have struggled for so long to do what has been expected of me, to love your brother, and be a worthy consort, but was always you Illidan. Always. Even if it could never be."

"Tyrande—"

Tyrande felt her heart beginning to beat faster. The way he looked at her . . . she remembered it so well. Malfurion had never looked at her like that. She held up her hand, unwilling to let Illidan finish. "I belong to Malfurion now, there can be no going back."

"Even so, I will protect you to my last breath. You were mine first Tyrande." Illidan held her gaze as he braced his hands against the sphere and began pushing them onwards into the void. Neither of them said anything for a long, long time.

* * *

The tethers came again, hungry, grasping. They ignored Illidan's attempts to put himself in their path, his screams to choose him instead of Tyrande. Driven by Gul'dan's necromancy, the tethers wrapped themselves around the sphere once more, pulling it towards the portal. The Light of Elune poured into Tyrande, she braced herself, but it wasn't enough. The pain was more than she could stand. She blacked out and woke to find Elune had not been able to heal her completely before the next group of tethers arrived. She screamed as she was consumed once more, Elune's power surging through her and down the tethers into the portal. Above the crackling hiss of blue fire, she heard a sound, insidious, jarring, reminding her of a dagger's point drawn upon glass. Something sharp struck her, and burrowed its way into her soul. She could _taste_ it, bitter and cold, it gnawed into her, spreading darkness and despair.

She opened her eyes. She was back in the Chamber. Illidan the demon hunter was watching her, intent. His golden tendrils seethed around her, encircling her, caressing her. She still couldn't move. The tendrils brought her against Illidan's torso, holding her in a lover's embrace. She heard Illidan's voice in her mind.

 _I will not hurt you. For as long as I can I will protect you. You can trust me._

She felt his lips press against the top of her head. She blinked and found herself back in the sphere, whole again, remade for the hundredth time. They were moving once more.

Illidan caught her eye as he strained to push the sphere across the endless distances. "Do you remember the Chamber?"

"Yes, but how could you—"

"Because I was there too."

She moved closer to him. "That was _you_? But, how?"

He shook his head. "I can only guess. I think Elune's stolen Light is speeding up Gul'dan's work, which means for a while we will be able to experience both here and there, as our spirits and bodies merge."

Tyrande thought about it, but it didn't make any sense for her to have been in the Chamber. She was safe inside the sphere. Illidan continued, grim, reading her thoughts.

"A tether breached the sphere. A part of you left with it. Your transformation is beginning. Though I tried, there was nothing I could do to stop it. Elune sealed the breach, but not soon enough."

Tyrande wrapped her arms around herself. The memory of the pain in her torso returned, and she relived the grisly feeling of that _thing_ burrowing into her. She shuddered. How could she have forgotten? Gul'dan—the crafty orc—had been using the tethers not only to attack the sphere but also to siphon Elune's Light away from the Goddess and into Illidan's body. Tyrande looked at Illidan, who continued to watch her, tense. He had said he was protecting her from being violated again, that meant . . . No.

"How long have you been able to be in both places at once?"

His jaw clenched. "Since your dream."

She crept closer to him, seeing the tension in his face, the tightness around his eyes. "How do you do it, how do you overcome Sargeras, and your other self?"

"The same way I overcame everything else that has passed in my life. I use my will. It seems the ten thousand years I spent confined to a cell weren't wasted after all."

She reached out and touched the sphere, tracing the contour of his jaw. "I once accused you of being drawn to power, saying it was a fault you needed to remedy. How wrong I was, your power is what will save us all in the end."

He scoffed. "I can only stop this for so long, if Malfurion doesn't get us out of there soon, I will be the avatar of Sargeras, and you—" he looked away, unwilling to finish.

"Will be his consort," Tyrande said, quiet.

He glanced at her, sharp. "How did you know?"

"When I entered the Nether, Sargeras told us it was our destiny. I didn't believe it could happen, Elune is a goddess."

Anger flashed in Illidan's eyes. He shoved his weight against the sphere, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing. "She has bound herself to a mortal, which makes her vulnerable. How pleased Sargeras must be with himself to enslave a goddess."

"I refuse to believe it will happen. Malfurion will find a way."

Illidan cursed, and shoved the sphere, using his shoulder. "Will he? Perhaps he has run back to his precious barrow den to sleep while the rest of Azeroth fights his battles for him."

Tyrande opened her mouth to defend her husband but the words died on her lips. The tethers were coming again.

She could hear Illidan bellowing over the thuds of a dozen tethers slamming against the sphere. She spun around, incredulous. Gul'dan's power was increasing exponentially. She didn't even have time to prepare herself. The Light burned into her, vicious, coursing through her body until it filled the sphere. The tethers juddered, splintering. They howled, dying, their high-pitched cries gnawing into her spine.

An insidious chuckle. She opened her eyes. The Chamber, again. Illidan's golden tendrils tightened around her, protective. He did not look at her. His eyes blazed, filled with hate, fixed on someone behind her.

A voice—like a blade against a sharpening stone—chilled her soul. Gul'dan.

"I applaud your tenacity Illidan, but you cannot protect her forever. Elune continues to weaken, and now without her protection, so does your precious Tyrande. Soon they will belong to our Master. And then, I intend to finish what I started with you. I look forward to watching you suffer."

Tyrande could feel Illidan straining against the tethers holding him imprisoned; felt his hatred sear through her, burning hot, like lava. She closed her eyes, sensing the darkness growing within her, her own spirit turning against her. It beckoned, promising her power beyond her dreams. She looked at Illidan, fighting both his tainted self, and Sargeras. She closed her eyes, and blocked out her thoughts. Malfurion would come. He had to. The alternative was unthinkable.

* * *

The atmosphere in Khadgar's office was so thick, Malfurion could have cut it with a dagger. He wasn't sure what the Archmage was up to, but so far, it wasn't looking like a good plan. Anduin, the new King of Stormwind had taken a seat on one of the sofas, his hands on his knees, while Sylvanas, the Horde's Warchief had chosen to remain standing, her arms crossed over her leather tunic. Both of them watched the door, waiting for Khadgar's arrival. Neither of them looked happy.

Malfurion wasn't happy either. For two days, he had been kept in comfortable isolation by the Council of Six, Khadgar had said it was for his protection, but the Archdruid wasn't so sure. Yesterday Khadgar had come to visit him, asking him to attend a meeting with the leaders of Azeroth's factions, and when Malfurion agreed, Khadgar asked him not to mention anything about Tyrande having travelled to the Twisting Nether. When Malfurion asked him why, Khadgar clammed up, politely. Malfurion pressed the Archmage, but trying to get an answer out of him was impossible. Malfurion sighed as he sipped his wine, the Kirin Tor were always so secretive, it made him wary. He wished Khadgar would hurry up.

The door opened and Khadgar walked in, solemn. He bowed. "Thank you for joining me."

Anduin stood up, his clear blue eyes earnest. "I am always happy to oblige you Archmage, but how long must we stay here? I cannot leave my people for very long."

Sylvanas nodded. "Indeed, the logistics are fast becoming difficult."

Khadgar didn't answer, instead he began to cast a spell, two blue-runed circles extended from his hands. Anduin took a step back, uncertain. Sylvanas, as always, took a defensive stance, she reached for her bow and nocked an arrow, her lips thin.

Malfurion was the first to step forward. "A portal, to where?"

Khadgar eyed each of them for a heartbeat, his expression stern and unbending. "Follow me, there is someone else who has requested to join us."

Sylvanas sneered. " _We_ are the leaders of Azeroth, let them come to us."

Curious, Malfurion stepped closer and peered into the portal. The interior looked almost the same as Khadgar's office, except the ceiling was much higher. A warm, white light suffused the walls with an ethereal glow. He glanced at Khadgar, astonished. "Xe'ra? A Na'aru wishes to join us?"

Enigmatic as ever, Khadgar lifted a brow, and held up his hand, inviting them to enter. Without hesitation, Anduin strode forward, and stepped into the portal, Malfurion turned and waited for Sylvanas. "My Lady?"

She stepped, light, towards the opening. Suspicion emanated from her. She trusted no one. Not even a Na'aru, it seemed. Malfurion glanced at Khadgar, who remained impassive, waiting, still holding his hand out. She glared at Khadgar, but entered the portal, her bow held up in front of her, defensive.

Malfurion followed, to find the others had already approached the glimmering being. Anduin knelt, filled with awe, and despite her grudging look, Sylvanas had at least lowered her bow. The light played over her silver-grey complexion. Her dark lips parted, softening her fierce expression. Malfurion couldn't stop himself from staring. Under her forbidding mask, Sylvanas was a beautiful woman.

Khadgar appeared beside Malfurion and closed the portal. He cast several more spells—wards, Malfurion presumed—before saying anything. When he was done, the Archmage moved in front of them.

"I won't repeat the reasons you were asked to reside in Dalaran, but I am grateful you have decided to cooperate. Today I will tell you what the Council has learned. First the worst news, then once you have digested that—the bad."

Malfurion glanced at Anduin. The young man rose up, his whole attention fixed upon Khadgar. Sylvanas turned to face Khadgar, her demeanour once more harsh and suspicious. Malfurion rested his hands on his hips, and braced himself. He had waited in his quarters for two days to have answers to what the mages had gained from searching his memories. Now, finally, he would have the truth, or at least the truth according to the Kirin Tor's Council of Six. It troubled him he would have to hear about his wife's fate in front of the others, and that he had to keep certain facts to himself, but he could not get her back on his own, and if this was the way he would have to do things, so be it.

"We have less than one month left before Azeroth will lose its last opportunity to stop its destruction."

Malfurion felt the blood drain from his face. So soon? He glanced at the others. Anduin looked deeply troubled, but Sylvanas was unimpressed.

"I doubt that," she scoffed. "My spies report nothing is happening at the Broken Shore. No reinforcements have arrived, the portals to the Legion ships are silent. All is quiet."

"Quiet is when the enemy is at its most dangerous. It means they are ready to strike," Anduin murmured.

"Says the boy-king," Sylvanas muttered, dismissive.

Anduin rounded on her, his jaw clenching. "Said my father."

Sylvanas took a step back, startled by the young man's sudden ferocity. She bowed her head. "Your father was a wise man. Forgive me."

"King Anduin is correct, Gul'dan is at his most dangerous right now," Khadgar said. "He has Illidan's body—stolen from the Warden's Vault—and has found Illidan's spirit. He is draining it from the Nether back into Illidan's body, corrupting it for his own purposes."

Sylvanas arched an eyebrow, but whatever she was thinking, she kept it to herself. Anduin paled. Varian's son had trained as a priest, and Malfurion suspected the young king was already piecing together Gul'dan's dark intentions. Malfurion crossed his arms over his chest, preparing himself for what he knew was coming. Soon he would hear about Tyrande. He willed Khadgar to continue.

"It is this purpose which will become our downfall should we do nothing to stop it."

Anduin stepped closer, the Na'aru's light reflecting off the polished clasp of his cloak. "He's creating an avatar for Sargeras, isn't he?"

Khadgar nodded, terse. Sylvanas hissed, and lunged at the Archmage. Malfurion caught her and held her back. Though small, her strength was astonishing. She pushed away from him, her anger palpable. "And so, knowing such a thing was unfolding, instead of calling us to action, you decided to bring us here to _talk_? Typical."

Khadgar's eyebrows lowered. "Need I remind you the last time we rushed into battle without due consideration how much we lost?"

Under his severe look Sylvanas retreated a step. She glanced at Anduin, who watched her, his blue eyes darkening, veering toward hostility.

She lifted her chin, defiant. "Speak then, the Warchief of the Horde is listening."

"To stop Gul'dan from unleashing such a thing upon us, there is only one option," Khadgar said. "We must retrieve Illidan's body. Sooner rather than later. And there is another we must retrieve as well. The Lady Tyrande, who as you know was taken by Gul'dan two days ago."

Anduin met Malfurion's eyes. "My armies are at your disposal, Archmage."

Sylvanas held her hand up to Anduin. "Not so fast, Son of Varian. Archmage Karlain said Illidan and Tyrande have been taken to the Chamber of the Eye. But none have yet discovered where it is. So what are our forces meant to do, blindly attack the Legion's stronghold hoping we will stumble upon a secret entrance?"

Khadgar waved his hand in the air, and a detailed map of the Broken Shore materialised on the floor, rotating slowly. He waved two fingers, and a point of light blossomed on the shoreline where the armies of Azeroth had last begun their assault. "No. We create a diversion. Once more, an invasion by the Horde and Alliance forces on the Broken Shore. But this time, a single force working together, as one." He moved his hand and a point light glimmered briefly on the island adjacent to the Tomb of Sargeras; where the cavern of the collapsed temple lay.

"I had to use ancient magic to find it, but I was able to locate the Chamber of the Eye. It is deep underneath the Tomb of Sargeras. There is only one way in: a tunnel from Hope's End."

Malfurion stared at the spot. Tyrande. He could save her. A tunnel was easy enough to navigate, all he needed to do was shapeshift and fly to Hope's End, shift into cat form and stealth inside. He could wait until the room was empty—Khadgar caught his eye. The Archmage's were filled with warning.

"I don't need to be a mind reader to guess what each of you are thinking right now. Why attack the Shore again when we can just take the tunnel? We can't." The light on the map blossomed anew. Khadgar continued, "This is where the tunnel begins, within the cavern of the collapsed temple. But the tunnel is covered by solid rock and sealed at its entrance and exit by powerful wards set by Gul'dan himself. Even I cannot bypass them."

"Then destroy them," Sylvanas murmured, her gaze raking over the details of the terrain at Hope's End.

"And give Gul'dan warning of our arrival? No. I'd rather not. Furthermore, the tunnel leading to the Chamber is cut under the channel between the islands. If anyone were foolish enough to try force their way, they would ensure the total destruction of the tunnel, cutting themselves off completely."

Anduin looked up, his jaw taut. "So we have one chance. And, I am assuming you have a plan how to get through that tunnel, or else we would not be meeting you here in the presence of a Na'aru."

Khadgar nodded. "I need you to lead your forces as a united front at the Shore. A diversion so convincing the Legion will be compelled to leave the Tomb. Meanwhile I will send a select group through the tunnel—"

"How?" Malfurion asked, suddenly impatient. "You just said you can't breach it and you won't destroy it."

"It seems Azeroth has seen fit to provide us with a weapon of her own," Khadgar answered, oblique.

Anduin glanced up at the Na'aru. "Xe'ra?"

The Na'aru's light intensified. Anduin lifted his hand up to it, watching, fascinated as the light slid over his fingers. The air filled with the soft chiming of bells. From what seemed a great distance, Malfurion heard the Na'aru's voice within his mind.

 _No, Anduin, not I. My purpose is meant for another task._

Khadgar waited for the Na'aru's light to return to normal, before continuing, "The power required to open the way is greater than even the Council of Six can generate. It will be another, with powers greater even than Aegwynn's who will open the way."

Anduin's mouth fell open. Even Sylvanas lost her composure for a moment as astonishment wrote itself plain across her features. Malfurion, though, only knew one feeling. Hope, real hope, for the first time in what felt like years. _Tyrande, hold on. We're coming._

"Who?" Sylvanas asked, her curiosity overcoming her pride.

But Khadgar wouldn't answer. Even here, in this warded place, in the presence of a Na'aru, the Archmage closed his mouth, and shook his head.

"Do you trust them?" Anduin asked before Sylvanas could.

"I do. And because of her, Gul'dan will not see us coming."

"Her . . ." Anduin breathed. "Do you think, maybe, it could be—?"

Khadgar smiled, soft. "No, Anduin, she is not Aegwynn reborn. At first I thought it might be so, but she is not. She has no memories, nothing of Aegwynn's long life touches her, and none of Aegwynn's magic is familiar to her. Her way of using magic is unfamiliar to me. But it is better than how we use it, she weaves it so fast, it is flawless, breathtaking. It seems she was born this way, carrying the energy of Azeroth, and the innate abilities to wield great power with almost no effort." He shook his head, bemused. "And she was born on a farm in Westfall, of all places."

"So even Azeroth herself rises to aid us," Sylvanas concluded, grim. She turned to Khadgar. "Whatever you ask of the Horde, consider it done. Let us end this, once and for all." She held out her hand to Anduin. "Son of Varian, I will fight by your side."

Anduin took her hand, and clasped it. "And I, yours."

Khadgar nodded, pleased. "Then, let us begin. We have much to do, and little time to prepare."


	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

* * *

It was late. Despite his fatigue, Khadgar warded his bedroom and cast a teleport. He stepped into his salvaged library of Karazhan. All was quiet. The books nestled on their shelves, tired. None came to greet him. He could understand why. Idira had been working hard. For the last eight days he had been caught up with the preparations for the next assault and hadn't had much time to visit her, but on the few occasions he had, she had been wrapped up in her work. But this was the first time he had arrived to total silence.

He considered teleporting back to his bedroom and falling into his bed for desperately needed sleep when he heard a low voice—a man's voice—coming from outside the library. His instincts sharpening, he edged toward the library's open door, a spell forming on his lips. He leant around the doorframe. The spell died on his lips. Standing in the hallway, outside the bedroom door, was _himself_ , or at least a near perfect echo of himself.

Too stunned to react, Khadgar leaned back into the shadows. His echo murmured something too quiet for Khadgar to hear and walked into the bedroom. Khadgar followed, his skin prickling. He concentrated and connected with the raven he had given her, but when he looked out of its eyes, he realised he was looking out of the echo's eyes. Idira had created an echo of him from his raven. What . . . how—by the Light! Idira wore nothing more than a gossamer shift. It was see-through. He blinked and returned to himself, shaken. No. He wouldn't use the raven's vision. It felt wrong.

He moved down the hall, and stopped outside the bedroom door, his back pressed against the wall, and listened.

"Hold me," Idira said, soft.

Khadgar's eyes widened as he heard the rustle of material betraying the sound of the pair's embrace. A creak of leather, and one pair of footsteps crossed the flagged stone of the floor. He leaned past the door frame, and watched his echo lowering Idira onto the bed, his eyes tender. She reached up and touched his jaw.

"I'm tired, stay with me, and keep me warm," she murmured.

His echo caught her hand, and kissed her fingertips, slow. She smiled as he undressed in front of her, his eyes on hers, down to his leather breeches. Khadgar lifted a brow, impressed despite the incongruity of the situation. His echo's powerful body, identical to his own, bore the same scars of battle. He watched as his echo lay down beside Idira and pulled her into his embrace, pillowing her head on his shoulder. Soon, the sound of their deep, even breathing filled the room.

Khadgar slipped inside and watched the pair sleep. Exhaustion etched Idira's features and dark shadows smudged the skin under her eyes. She shivered and huddled closer to his echo, who responded, even in sleep, tightening his hold on her. Khadgar drew back, disturbed, both by the sight of himself laying in his bed with a beautiful woman while wearing only his breeches and by the sudden surge of jealousy that coursed through his chest. How could he be jealous of himself?

He turned to leave, guilt rushing in to accompany his jealousy. He had left her alone for too long, forcing her to create an echo to comfort herself. If she knew he had seen it, she would be humil—

A sharp intake of breath came from the bed. "Archmage?"

He closed his eyes. This was going to be awkward. He turned around. His echo was gone, thank the Light.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "I am sorry, I have intruded on your privacy." He turned once more, to leave.

He could hear her sitting up, he tried to walk faster without making it seem obvious.

"Please. Don't go," she said, quiet.

Something in her voice made him stop. She left the bed and stood before him, swaying with fatigue. "Stay with me."

He took a step back, trying and failing not to look at her in her shift. "Idira, it isn't right. You are my apprentice, under my care."

She laughed, hollow, and her violet eyes caught his. "I stopped being your apprentice days ago Khadgar."

He eyed her, noting the change in her demeanour, her uncertainty and timidity had melted away, replaced by confidence, power and knowledge, more than even he could fathom. He suspected she had read every book in his library, a feat he knew he could never accomplish, even if he had ten lifetimes. He glanced at the bed thinking of the echo she had made of him in perfect detail, as real as any person. He knew of no mage who could do that.

He nodded. "As you say. But still, I will not stay."

She swayed again, staggering to keep upright. He caught her and led her back to the bed. "You must sleep, you have worked so hard. Rest Idira. I will come back to you tomorrow."

Her hand caught his sleeve as he turned to go, holding him back. "Please, just sleep beside me. It's all I ask." She smiled, her eyelids drifting downward as she teased, "You don't have to undress, if you'd rather not."

Khadgar stood beside the bed and dithered. She was tired, he was tired. Nothing could happen, it was only sleeping, after all. He heard a voice inside his head mocking him, telling him if he believed that, then Arthas was the King of Lordaeron. He gritted his teeth. She shivered, and her eyes snapped open again, meeting his.

"I'm cold. The echo cannot warm me, but you can. Please." She patted the bed beside her hip, enticing him.

Khadgar felt the familiar clench in his chest he always experienced whenever he thought of her. He wanted this. He had thought of it often enough when turning into his bed each night knowing she was only a teleport away. How long had she been using an echo of him to comfort her? It didn't matter, all those times he had wondered if his feelings for her were reciprocated, he had no doubt of the truth now.

He looked down at her, able to see all of her in that incredible thing she was wearing. He bit back a curse, and looked away, certain his decision was going to come back to haunt him. He would stay, and worry about the consequences later. He had warded his bedroom in Dalaran, no one would know he was missing so long as he returned in time for breakfast with the Council.

He set aside his staff and pulled off his belt, shoulder collar and gloves, leaving them in a heap on the floor beside the bed. He would just sleep beside her and keep her warm, nothing more. Still wearing his tunic, he lay down beside her, and pulled her into his arms. She moved onto her side and huddled against him, her arm slipping up around his neck. Her fingertips brushed against his skin, beneath his ear. He started. She wasn't exaggerating. She was freezing. He took her hand in his and chafed it, warming her. It wasn't enough. He cast a spell and a blazing fire burst to life in the fireplace. He murmured another spell and a thick woollen blanket settled over them. He stroked the hair from her face, trying to ignore the soft curves of her body against his firm one. He was already starting to feel too warm, but at least she would be comfortable.

"Thank you," she murmured as she shifted and rested her leg on top of his. Her inner thigh pressed, light, against his groin. He could feel himself reacting. He tensed, fighting it, forcing himself to concentrate on sifting through the battle plans for flaws. She fell asleep almost immediately. Despite his fatigue, he lay awake a long, long time, unable to think of anything but the woman in his arms and how much he longed to make her his.

* * *

He woke deep in the night, sweating. The fire had burned down to its embers, bathing the bedroom in a dull orange glow. Idira had moved a little apart from him. Her blond hair spilled across her cushion, glowing in the faint light like spun gold. For a while, he watched her drift deep in the realm of sleep, her breathing even and soft. Unthinking, he bent to kiss her brow. He caught himself and pulled back. No. It was time to leave. He eased his arm out from under her shoulder. Cautious, so as not to disturb her, he edged to the side of the bed. He swung his legs over the side and bent down to pick up his things.

He heard her stir; caught the soft rustle of the blanket falling away as she sat up. "Khadgar?"

He closed his eyes, so much for his quiet escape. She moved across the bed and embraced him from behind, her cheek against the nape of his neck. Through his tunic he could feel her breasts pressing against his shoulder blades. He forced himself to think about demons.

"I didn't think you were the type to leave a woman in the night," she said, quiet.

He clenched his fists. Why did she have to make this so difficult? He blurted out the question, unable to stop himself. "Why me, Idira? I am almost twice your age. You could have anyone—"

She laughed, soft. "Age is nothing. Since I have come here and discovered my true power I feel as though I am thousands of years old. And this place—it is saturated with your essence. I have learned much about you, of your past, the trials you have overcome, and of your suffering. You have suffered much, and always alone. Yet you have always remained good—despite terrible ordeals—your strength, your courage, and your honour have never wavered. You are everything I could ever want. I have fallen in love with you, Khadgar. Your secrets are written in my heart, and I cherish them. If only you could—"

He didn't let her finish. His heart pounding, he turned and took her into his arms and lowered her onto the bed, his mouth covering hers, hungry. She answered him, leaving him in no doubt what she wished of him. Her fingers tangled with his, helping him as he struggled to pull off his tunic. He shed the thing, and knelt over her clad only in his leather breeches, panting. He had never slept with a woman before. What if he disappointed her?

She smiled up at him, and reached out for his hand, entwining her fingers in his.

"You are also my first. Let us find our way together my love."

* * *

Humming a little tune, Khadgar spread a fat dollop of jam across his breakfast croissant. He thought of Idira, still sleeping, naked and nestled in their shared blanket as he had dressed to attend breakfast with the Council. As soon as he was finished, he would return to her. They had work to do today, it was time for her to enter the font and read the wards in the tunnel. He took a few extra croissants, setting them on his plate to take back with him; they were too delicious not to share.

"You look like the cat that got the cream," Modera said, eyeing him over her coffee cup.

Khadgar bit into his roll, feigning nonchalance. "Do I?"

Kalec lifted an eyebrow as he reached for the platter of cheeses. "You do. Even I can see it."

"As can I," Karlain murmured from behind his daily tabloid, filled with Dalaran gossip, which he had long claimed was his only vice.

"Never in my life have I know you to _hum_ ," Ansirem said as he tipped a small amount of milk into his tea.

Suppressing a smile, Khadgar finished the last of his coffee and stood up. He collected the extra croissants into a white linen napkin. "I just slept very well last night. I'm going to take these for later if you don't mind."

He went to the door, sensing their bemusement. As he left he cast a small spell so his range of hearing would reach a little further. He couldn't help himself, he wanted to know what they were going to say.

Vargoth said, quiet, "I don't think those croissants are for him at all."

Modera scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"A beautiful young woman with the power of Aegwynn, whom he is keeping someplace only he knows . . . Surely I couldn't have been the only one to see this coming?" Ansirem muttered.

"You weren't," Kalec answered. "The question is what will we do about it."

A rustle of papers as Karlain folded his tabloid. "Nothing. From what he has told us of Idira's progression, no one could call her an apprentice anymore. She is more than his equal, therefore it is none of our business what they do together. As for me, I am happy for him. It's about time he found someone."

"But she's half his age!" Modera spluttered, outraged. "It isn't fitting for the Leader of the Kirin Tor to behave like a . . . like a—"

"Healthy, red-blooded man?" Ansirem asked, dry.

Modera gasped, scandalised. Vargoth chuckled, though not unkindly. "Leave it be, Modera. The heart goes where it will. Let him be happy. He deserves this."

Khadgar had heard enough. He went to his office, and warded it. It was time to wake Idira. He cast the teleportation spell and followed his heart.

* * *

Idira hadn't moved since he'd left. She lay on her side, sound asleep, a small smile curving her lips. Khadgar sat on the edge of the bed and conjured a mug of coffee. It appeared on the bedside table, its rich aroma filling the air. Idira stirred, sleepy, and rolled onto her back. She smiled up at him.

"That coffee smells good."

Khadgar bent over and kissed her, before presenting the wrapped bundle with a flourish. He set it on the bed, beside her. She watched him as he opened it. The croissants tumbled out, their warm buttery scent mixing with the coffee's, making the bedroom smell like the interior of Dalaran's finest coffee house, the Legerdemain Lounge.

She sat up, her hair tousled. Her violet eyes shone, delighted. Holding the blanket against her chest, she picked up a croissant, and broke off a piece. He watched her eat, his heart aching with love. He had no idea he could ever feel this way. He almost couldn't stand it. Almost.

He held out the coffee to her. She blew on it before sipping.

Khadgar reached out to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Today we must go into the font, so you can examine the tunnel and Gul'dan's wards."

She nodded and picked up another croissant. She bit into it, discovering the melting chocolate inside. Her face filled with rapture. She held it up, pointing at the croissant's dark, liquid centre.

"What is this?"

Khadgar shook his head, taken aback. "Have you never tasted chocolate before?"

She didn't answer, she was too busy devouring the croissant. He almost laughed when she began breaking the other ones apart, searching their centres for more chocolate. She found two more, her delight at her sudden bounty touching him.

He pushed himself back onto the bed and leaned against the bed's headboard, stretching his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He conjured himself a mug of coffee, and settled back to enjoy it, so Idira could take her time savouring her first experience of chocolate. He made a mental note to make sure to bring her chocolate every day from now on. He wondered what else she had been deprived of during her upbringing in Westfall. He clenched his jaw and forced the thought away. That was in the past. From now on she would want for nothing.

Idira finished her breakfast with a satisfied sigh. Brushing the crumbs onto the napkin she folded it up and set it aside. Khadgar put his arm around her as she settled against him and sipped the last of her coffee.

"So, you are a frost mage, then?" Khadgar asked.

She smiled. "I have no idea how you were able to figure that out."

"A wild guess," he set his empty mug onto the bedside table. "Do you suffer much from it?"

She nodded, and bit her lip. Not _that_ again. He took hold of her chin, and lifted her face to his. "That drives me crazy, just so you know." She bit her lip harder, teasing him.

He groaned and pushed himself from the bed. He held out his hand to her. "Come, the font awaits. We have work to do."

She took his hand and stepped out of the bed. Light wove up from her feet, wrapping around her, clothing her. Khadgar watched, fascinated. Her powers were beautiful to behold. There was not a drop of darkness in her. She was pure light. When she was done, she stood before him in a shimmering white gown, its neckline, waist and hips accented with glittering diamonds. Silver thread shot through the material, edging it with embroidered frost runes. A silver circlet, embossed with glowing violet runes wove through her upswept hair. Gone was the shy young woman from Westfall who had stood on his office's balcony in a threadbare linen gown. Now a woman far beyond his wildest imagination stood before him; a silver staff, crackling with power rested in her hand, its crown encircled with threads of white light. Ancient power emanated from her. He could see her breath as the temperature in the room dropped.

He knelt, overcome. "My Lady . . . I am not worthy of you."

She touched his shoulder. He came to his feet, feeling as though the tables had turned—he had become the novice and she the master. She looked up at him, earnest. "Never do that again. To you, at least, I must be Idira."

Her skin sparkled with frost, offsetting the brilliance of her violet eyes. He found her utterly breathtaking, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He nodded. "And so it shall be, my love."

She smiled, delighted at his choice of words. "Then let us do this thing. I am ready. Take me to the font."

* * *

Standing upon the top step of the font, Khadgar looked back at his and Idira's bodies locked in their embrace within the runed force field. It was her idea, and though he felt a little foolish at first, he obliged her before casting the spells. Now he could see why she had wanted to do so. He looked different than the last time he was here, determination and confidence had replaced his exhaustion and anger. Positioned in the casting stance, he held her protectively against him with one arm, while casting with his other hand. She rested her head on his shoulder, her hand against his chest, frost riming the front of his collar where she touched him. It was like looking at art. He was glad she had thought of it. He would never forget how they looked together, ever.

He had set the time for one hour on his watch, more than he hoped she would need. He touched the watch's face in his pouch. He was ready. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her. He squeezed her hand, held fast in his. Before they left their bodies behind, she had added an additional spell of her own, enabling them to speak to each other through their thoughts, something she had learned from one of Medivh's tomes.

 _Are you ready?_ he asked.

 _Yes._

 _Follow me into the font._

He stepped into the basin, lifting his hand up to steady her as she stepped over the basin's ridge. He felt the pressure of her hand against his, and then she was there, her body touching his. He pulled her against him. Her arms slid around his torso, and he sensed her apprehension. He could understand, the font was a thing that could be used for great evil. It was possible it could even harm her. He had cast additional wards, just in case.

 _Hold on tight. Do not let go._

He felt her nod against his shoulder, her grip on him tightened. He used his mind to cast the incantation and they entered time itself. Within its chaotic channels he focussed his mind on their destination. _The centre of the tunnel between Hope's End and the Chamber of the Eye. Today. Take us there._

In a heartbeat, they were there, inside the damp, claustrophobic gloom of the tunnel. Fel torches dotted the length of it, pools of sickly green light stretching away into the distance. Already Idira was moving, pulling him towards the end of the tunnel leading to Hope's End. He followed her, sensing her urgency. They reached the rock face at the end of the tunnel. She stood still, her hand as cold as ice within his gloved one.

 _Can you take us back in time, slowly, over the past three days?_ she asked.

 _Yes, of course._ He began to scroll back through time, stopping at various intervals whenever she asked him to. When she was done, she asked him to take them into the future, to the day of the assault. He did. They hit a wall. He couldn't take them any further.

 _Strange._ He said, and tried again. He crashed against something solid, and a crushing pain, fiercer than anything he had never known before slammed through his torso. He clutched his chest, his heart felt like it was being torn out of him.

Idira cried out, distressed, sobbing. _Go back!_

He did. Idira sagged against him, shaking. It took her a long time to recover. He leaned against the tunnel's wall, waiting for the waves of pain to recede. His chest still ached but he shoved his discomfort aside, his concern for Idira rising. He asked her how she was, but she didn't answer. Instead, she stood, and pulled on his hand. Her progress was slow as they followed the tunnel to its opposite end. He sensed she was injured, and wanted to be left alone. At the tunnel's termination, she went to work again sensing and reading the wards, again she asked to go back in time, for three days. This time, though she did not ask to go into the future. As she worked, he touched the face of his watch, they were running out of time. He was about to say something when she turned to him, and wrapped her arms around his torso once more.

 _I have learned all I can. Please, take us away from this place._

He brought them back through the font, and led her down its steps back to where their bodies stood, immobile. They returned, enduring the searing pain of ice and fire as their spirits merged with their bodies. Idira remained in his embrace, shuddering, clinging to him. Blood dripped from her nose, mouth and eyes, freezing on her skin.

Alarmed, Khadgar swept her up and carried her to the bed. He lay her down, and conjured a bowl of warm water, along with fresh linens. He cleaned her, and held compresses against her nose and mouth, cursing with frustration as the linens began to freeze. He changed the compresses continuously, but despite the pressure he applied, she continued to bleed. He realised her injury wasn't a physical one, but magical. He cast in his mind for what could have done this to her, but could think of nothing. There was only the one event when he had tried to take them into the future and they hit a wall. He had felt it too, yet he had not been harmed as she had.

She lay so still, he shook her shoulders, fearing for her. "Idira, are you aware?"

Her eyelids flickered. Her eyes dull, she nodded, weak, and whispered a spell. The bleeding slowed, and finally stopped. She murmured another spell and her regalia disappeared, replaced by a simple robe, the frost on her skin melted away. He took her hand in his, even through his glove he could feel her chill. How could she stand it? He lit another fire, and covered her with the blanket. She shivered and curled into herself, her back to him.

Helpless, Khadgar stroked her hair. What had happened? She was so quiet, so withdrawn. He had never seen her like this before. Not knowing what else to do, he lay down behind her and pulled her freezing body against his, chafing her arms, trying warm her. She lay passive in his embrace, saying nothing, letting him do his work. After a long while, she roused and turned to face him, pale and drawn.

"I will be able to open the tunnel tomorrow without Gul'dan knowing," she said, quiet.

He nodded, and continued to stroke her hair, troubled. Something in her voice made his instincts prickle. She knew something. And whatever it was, it wasn't good.

"Won't you tell me what it is that is troubling you?"

He searched her face for answers. A veil dropped over her eyes, and he sensed her distancing herself from him. She closed her eyes, and a tear slipped free. He kissed it away, and waited for her answer.

"Just love me," she whispered against his neck.

His heart aching, Khadgar did.


	9. Chapter 8 Part 1

**CHAPTER 8 Part I**

* * *

Malfurion hadn't come. Tyrande was not going to escape. Now she spent almost all of her time in the Chamber of the Eye. Only a small part of her continued to exist in the sphere within the Nether, or at least, what was left of the sphere. Illidan was still there, pushing the fractured and fel infested thing away from the portal every chance he had, but he was also here too, talking to her, trying to keep her from succumbing to the seduction of Sargeras's words.

But when he wasn't here—suppressing his corrupted self—she would weaken. Illidan's corrupted self was so powerful, so possessive, so enigmatic, she couldn't help but feel drawn to him. He was a confusing cross between the Illidan she once knew and loved, and the dark one she didn't. As his tendrils seethed around her, caressing her, he told her of the things to come, of their destiny as immortal beings, cleansing every world in the Twisting Nether with fire. He encouraged her to channel Elune's Light into her body, corrupted by Gul'dan's magic, so she could become a worthy consort to the greatest Titan of all. He promised to love and cherish her. He promised to always fight by her side, unlike—he reminded her—Malfurion who had so often left her to fight her battles alone.

He asked her who had rescued her from the Scourge, while replaying the memory of Illidan's arrival into her mind, letting her watch him storm the camp, and open a way out for her. His golden tendrils stroked her face as he told her he was the one who loved her, not the hybrid thing she was bound to, who always ran away to protect his own interests. If Malfurion loved her so much, where was he now? He had had eleven days to come for her, but he had done nothing, because he was a coward. But Illidan, the one who truly loved her, would have saved her.

She lifted her head and met the burning eyes of the creature in front of her, enough of her spirit had been drained into her body, corrupted, that she could finally move a little. She smiled, cold.

 _Yes. Illidan loves me,_ she answered. _But Malfurion loves me too, in a way you could never comprehend._

He laughed, amused. _You will forget him and his paltry love. Once you have known the love of a Titan, you will never think of it again. And I will be kind, I will even allow you to see the Illidan I know you still love, so your heart will betray you into believing it is he you are giving yourself to, and not me._

She closed her eyes. It was so hard to think straight when he talked to her. She realised she wanted what Sargeras was offering, her corrupted soul longed for it even. What would it be like to be the consort of a titan? The power she would wield would be enormous. Everything about her life in Azeroth paled in comparison. And she would have Illidan, she would not be alone. She would still have him. She felt his tendrils tightening around her, drawing her closer to him, possessive.

 _Yes,_ he whispered, reading her thoughts. _Stop fighting, and come to me. Be my beloved. For eternity._

* * *

Krasus's Landing bustled with activity, hundreds of Alliance and Horde airships hovered outside Dalaran in long queues, waiting patiently, their massive propellers rotating, filling the air with a powerful, rhythmic thrum. Under Malfurion's feral paws, the surface of the Landing vibrated. He had been at the Landing since dawn, watching the preparations of both factions led by Anduin and Sylvanas. They stood together in full view of their forces with their commanders, presenting a united front.

Malfurion paced, impatient, glancing for the thousandth time at the distant blackened island, longing for the assault to begin on the Broken Shore so Khadgar's group could journey to Hope's End, and he to Tyrande.

A horn bellowed, low and deep, signalling the airship parked at the Landing's imminent departure. Crewmen on board pulled back the walkway connecting the hovering Alliance ship to the Landing. Moments later the ship peeled away, its propellers speeding up, thundering, deafening, to take its holding position along with the others over the coast of Azsuna. Another airship came to take its place, this time one from Orgrimmar. A dozen portals opened, orcs, blood elves, undead, goblins, trolls and tauren poured out, hastening to organise behind their captains.

Malfurion had to admit as he watched the troops board, orderly and disciplined, the operation was flawless. Once Anduin and Sylvanas had put their heads together with Khadgar, they had become unstoppable. He thought of Jaina and what she would think if she could see how much things had changed between the Horde and Alliance since suffering the losses of their last assault. He shook his head. No, it would be better if she did not see this. She could cause a lot of trouble when she wanted to. He was glad she had gone away. He hoped she would stay away for a long time, too. Seeing how much could be accomplished when the factions worked together moved him in a way he couldn't explain, but whatever it was, it meant much to him to finally see something he never thought he would see. He was certain Varian would be proud of his son if he could see him now, standing over a command table and conferring, serious, with the Warchief of the Horde, nodding with her as they made their last minute decisions.

The ships continued to move up one at a time, to take on board the thousands of troops being portalled to the Landing by the Kirin Tor mages from all across Azeroth. Joining the Alliance and Horde forces were Valarjar warriors and Highmountain Tauren, even an impressive contingent of Nightborne rebels and Nightfallen had arrived, to provide medical support behind the lines with their tinctures and healing remedies. Malfurion was ashamed none of the Dreamweavers had come to aid in the fight, not even to provide healing, but they believed their fight against the Nightmare to be the most urgent. They had sent an emissary to apologise, but a part of him resented their lack of support. They could have spared at least a dozen to help Azeroth.

He wondered if perhaps this feeling he felt was similar to how Tyrande had felt when he had spent all his time in the Emerald Dream. He shook his head, why had she stayed with him? He had neglected her so much. He looked once more at the far side of the towering Tomb of Sargeras, at the place they would soon travel to, the island called Hope's End. Once he got her back, he would never neglect her again. He had learned from his mistakes, and wouldn't make them again.

There was still hours to go before the assault would begin. Even so Malfurion intended to stay and watch, willing them to hurry. For every airship that departed, he was that much closer to reaching Tyrande. He could do nothing else, and somehow watching them prepare, helped.

* * *

 _Tyrande?_

 _Illidan?_ Tyrande asked, her heart blossoming with hope.

 _The sphere is almost completely destroyed, it will not be long before Gul'dan has the last of your spirit, and takes what is left of Elune's Light. And then . . ._ his voice trailed off. She looked up at the creature before her, Illidan the demon hunter, the half-finished avatar for Sargeras. The creature's eyes still blazed with fiery light, but in them she could see Illidan looking back at her, the Illidan of the Nether who had helped her to resist the words of Sargeras; resisting the words himself, as he fought against his own corrupted soul.

 _And then, he will finish what he started with you,_ Tyrande finished, bleak.

 _Yes._

For a long time Tyrande said nothing. They had lost. Eleven days. She had fought Gul'dan for eleven days. She tried to connect with what little was left of her spirit in the Nether, but it was so faint, it was no more than a whisper. Yet whatever was left of her seemed to sustain her from crossing the line into the darkness. What was it she had learned long ago when she was a novice in the Temple of the Moon? Ah yes, it only takes a tiny amount of light to overcome the darkness. It seemed to be true. So long as she could keep that fragment of her spirit intact, she would be able to resist. But how much time did she have left before she became something else? Someone else? Once more thoughts of giving up and succumbing to Sargeras began to take root. She was so tired. He was so powerful, even Elune, while bound to Tyrande was unable to protect Herself. If a Goddess could not stand against him, how could Tyrande ever hope to?

 _Tyrande. Don't. Don't think those things. I can hear your thoughts, you know I can. When you think like that you make it harder for me to resist. We must be strong together. We still have time. Until it is over, we still have time._

His tendrils wrapped around her, tender, mournful. He knew they were finished, that they stood on the threshold of their terrible destiny, but even so, he refused to be broken. She admired him, his power, his will, his strength. She had always thought those characteristics were faults in him, now she knew better. They were what had called her heart to his the first time, despite frightening her. Once she knew how deep his passions burned; how complicated and dangerous he could be, she had run away from him, overwhelmed.

It was her fault, she had driven him to what he became by rejecting him after he bared his heart and soul to her, further twisting the dagger by choosing his brother. She could have chosen anyone, but she had picked Malfurion, because he was there, because he was Illidan's brother. Because by betraying Illidan, she believed it would make his feelings for her end.

And now, more than ten thousand years later, Illidan's love still remained the same. To the bitter end he stayed with her, protecting her, fighting for her, even when his own burdens must be staggering. She knew he could hear her thoughts; could sense it in his silence and stillness, knew he was hanging on to her every thought.

 _Illidan . . .forgive me. All this time I have accused Malfurion of being a coward for hiding in the Emerald Dream, but I was also a coward. I used your brother to hide myself from you. To hide from my own heart. I have wronged you so much. Everything you did, you did because of what I did to you._

 _Some, not all,_ Illidan answered. _I am far from perfect, but everything I did, I did because I wanted to end the Burning Legion. Losing you only made me reckless. I didn't care anymore who I hurt or what I had to do, nothing else mattered but to stop them. I only wanted—_

The sensation of a thousand knives sliced through Tyrande as the golden tendrils surrounding her ripped away, then snapped back into place. She screamed, hearing her voice for the first time since she left Azeroth. Shuddering, she looked back at Illidan. He was gone, replaced by his other self, watching her, his eyes smouldering, furious.

"That's better," Gul'dan said, his voice crackling with sadistic pleasure. "If you want to talk to Illidan, then you will talk to the one that belongs to me. You will—" Heavy footsteps approached. Tyrande heard the soft clacking of Gul'dan's necklace of skulls as he turned, slow. "What is it?"

The deep voice of an Eredar addressed Gul'dan. "Master, the armies of Azeroth have now completed their muster. Just over a thousand airships are moving toward the southern shoreline."

Gul'dan chuckled, pleased. "Fools. They are too late, even with ten thousand ships they will not be able to stop our Lord's arrival. Let them come. Send everything we have to meet them. Keep them busy. I do not wish to be disturbed"

"Shall I leave the contingent stationed on Hope's End?"

Again the chuckle, filled with malevolence. "No, let them join the fight. I wouldn't want them to miss it when I arrive with the Dark Lord and his Lady."

Tyrande felt something touch her back between her shoulder blades. It traced the path of her spine down to her hips. Tyrande shuddered as she realised it was Gul'dan's staff. A little fel energy left his staff and trickled into her tailbone, creeping up into her torso.

"Tyrande has put up a good fight, but it is over. She has lost and she knows it. As soon as she breaks, Illidan will follow, she is all he has left to fight for. It has been entertaining to watch their struggle, like flies caught in honey."

Tyrande felt a tear slip free. They were coming, a thousand airships full of them. Malfurion had rallied all of Azeroth, despite the factions being almost at war with each other. He had done the impossible, and he was going to be too late.

"As you command," the Eredar murmured. He turned and left. Gul'dan waited until the sound of the demon's hooves faded away before moving into Tyrande's view. He smiled, slow.

"It's time to finish this."

He pointed his staff at her, using her as a conduit to pull Elune's Light from the sphere. Held fast in the creature's fiery tethers, Tyrande screamed as the Light burned into her; corrupted, filthy, dark, enticing.

She could feel herself beginning to transform. Could hear Gul'dan's murmurs, encouraging her. The creature holding her gazed down at her, hungry, aroused. Deep in the throes of her agony, she snapped back to herself in the tattered sphere, in time to see Illidan breaking his way into the ruined thing and take what was left of her into his arms.

"Hold on my love, just a little longer. They are coming. Hold on."

He pressed his back against the jagged edges of the sphere, diverting Elune's tainted Light into him, bellowing as it seared into him, corrupting him. His eyes burned bright, but he didn't let her go. Tyrande clung to him, weeping, watching horrified as the Light of Elune drained into Illidan. Gul'dan increased the intensity, and Illidan roared, the Light pouring into him, corrupted. She could feel his muscles twitching, straining against the darkness entering him. The Light flickered, weakening. It pulsed as Gul'dan demanded more. It fell to a trickle, and finally extinguished.

Tyrande felt darkness spreading through her soul as Elune's presence faded away, the Goddess's existence becoming nothing more than a memory.

The sphere disintegrated. Illidan grunted, his muscles straining, as he fought the fel corruption within him. She feared he would let her go, but he didn't. He held on to her, despite his suffering, and carried her with him through the silent, vast reaches of the Nether.

The tethers came, hundreds of them, furious, and latched onto them, tearing at them. Still Illidan held her. The tethers tugged, and darkness called to her. Despite his cries of protest, she let go of him and let the tethers pull the last of her spirit into the Chamber of the Eye. Elune was dead. Gul'dan had destroyed the Goddess. He would pay.

She opened her eyes, and saw the creature looking down at her, watching her, intent. She smiled, her heart filled with hate. No more would she be a passive player in Gul'dan's sick game. She screamed, and broke free of his fiery grasp. A fel tether snapped around her neck, four more took hold of her wrists and ankles. She slammed against the wall opposite the creature, spread-eagled.

Beneath her, Gul'dan held up his staff, crackling with energy, using it to hold her in place until the tethers finished their work. Sweat beaded his brow. He wasn't chuckling anymore.

"Enough!" he shouted. "It is past time to bring the Master to Azeroth. I will finish with you later, once Illidan is out of the way."

He turned to the creature, and lifted his staff once more. Tethers snaked out of it into the portal, returning, their maws glowing with the last pieces of Illidan's soul, already corrupted. They rammed into the creature, hundreds of them. It threw back its head and roared, writhing with agony and ecstasy. The Chamber turned cold. Darkness encroached. Illidan transformed, the demon hunter's body morphing into a dread lord's. Its eyes locked on hers, possessive. She felt her flesh crawl. Nothing of Illidan was left in that thing. The last hope within Tyrande's breast died. Sargeras was coming. Azeroth was lost.


	10. Chapter 8 Part 2

**CHAPTER 8 Part II**

* * *

Alone on Krasus's Landing, Malfurion watched the vanguard of airships approaching the Broken Shore. Beneath them, hundreds of warships crested the waves, filled with the elite forces who would lead the offense, opening the way for those waiting in the airships above. All across the Broken Shore, he could see activity, as the demons organised, streaming over its blackened surface to meet the forces of Azeroth.

"I thought I might find you here." Kalec stepped up beside Malfurion, and tilted his head at the scene unfolding below, "I would be if I was in your place."

Malfurion didn't say anything. He wasn't in the mood to chat. Kalec cleared his throat. "Khadgar sent me to find you. We are ready to depart."

At last, it was time. Malfurion nodded. "I am ready."

Kalec cast a portal, and Malfurion once more stepped into the room containing the Na'aru Xe'ra. Kalec joined him. Besides the three of them, no one else was there.

He looked at Kalec, surprised. "Where are the others? The troops Anduin and Sylvanas promised us?"

Kalec looked away, brushing at a smudge of dirt on his sleeve. "There has been, ah, a change of plans. Very last minute."

Malfurion felt his lips thinning. These Kirin Tor, they never told anyone anything until the last moment. He crossed his arms, furious. How were they to make it across Hope's End without the support of the military?

"And?" he demanded.

Kalec shook his head, and had the decency to look shame-faced. "I confess, even I do not know yet. Khadgar said it was best no one knew until the time came."

"Tyrande's life hangs by a thread!" Malfurion erupted, livid. "Yet Khadgar sees fit to change the well-laid plans of Azeroth's finest military minds? Has he lost his senses?!" Malfurion paced the length of the room, so angry he felt himself quivering. Even the soothing light of the Na'aru could not quell the storm brewing within his heart.

Kalec opened his mouth to say something when a thin line of blue light sliced through the air, indicating a teleport was incoming. Malfurion turned, his brow lowering. Khadgar stepped through, alone, his expression taut.

Malfurion moved forward to demand answers when a woman walked into the room, out from the thin air. He stopped in his tracks, gaping. Clad in white and silver, her gown glittered with icy diamonds. She met his eyes, and he took a step back, astonished. They glowed pure violet. Her white skin sparkled, coated in frost. She took a step forward, and he felt the temperature in the room drop. The power emanating from her was tangible. Even the Na'aru's presence paled in comparison. Malfurion felt empowered just by being near her.

He swivelled to Khadgar, full of questions, his anger replaced by awe. So this was Khadgar's secret weapon, the one with the powers greater than a Guardian, even though none had given up their power to make her so. Whoever she was, whatever she was, she was more powerful than anything Malfurion had ever come across. Even the power of Malorne paled beside her.

Khadgar moved to stand beside her, protective. "Idira, may I present the Archmage Kalec, the Archdruid Malfurion and the Na'aru Xe'ra."

She tilted her head to Kalec, Malfurion and the Na'aru, but said nothing.

Malfurion bowed. "My Lady, I am honoured to meet you."

Xe'ra brightened, filling the air with soft chimes as she addressed Idira.

 _And so the reckoning is come._

Malfurion caught Khadgar paling at the Na'aru's oblique comment. The Archmage glanced at Idira, but she merely inclined her head to Xe'ra, the frost in her hair glittering in the Na'aru's soft light.

Khadgar said nothing for several moments, he appeared to be dealing with an internal struggle. Malfurion waited. Finally the Leader of the Kirin Tor drew a deep breath, and turned to Malfurion and Kalec. "Idira will teleport us to Hope's End and open the way. The Chamber of the Eye contains Illidan's body, which is being transformed into an avatar for Sargeras." He paused, and met Malfurion's eyes, wary. "Tyrande is also there and is under the control of the avatar. She is also being transformed into a demon, she seems intended to be its consort."

Malfurion staggered. Disbelief, then rage poured through him. How dare Khadgar keep this knowledge from him until now. Without thinking he leapt at Khadgar. He would tear the Archmage limb from limb, would pull his heart, still beating, from his—

Malfurion flew back across the room and slammed against the wall, hard.

Khadgar lowered his staff, his eyes dark. "Malfurion, forgive me. I could not tell you before now, could not risk you laying waste to our plans. You must understand for the good of all Azeroth I had to keep this from you."

Malfurion stood up, slow, as reason returned, shaming him. Khadgar was right, what could he have done to help Tyrande without the aid of the others? Nothing. He rolled his shoulder, seeking to ease the pain from its blow against the wall. "I do understand," he admitted, bitter. "In your place, I would have done the same, but still, the thought is unbearable. Please, let us make haste. I must go to her before it is too late."

Khadgar nodded. A flicker of emotion crossed over his face, quickly concealed. Malfurion narrowed his eyes, recognising it. Dread. His heart clenched. The Archmage knew something, and still wasn't telling all. Khadgar continued.

"Xe'ra and Idira are the most powerful among us, they will deal with freeing and containing Illidan and Tyrande, the rest of us will do our best to manage Gul'dan until we can get away with the other two. It is not our prerogative to defeat Gul'dan today, all we are there to do is get the pair of them away and safe. Kalec you will portal us back to this room. It has been warded in preparation for their arrival. Are we agreed?"

Malfurion nodded along with Kalec. Xe'ra's quiet chimes joined in. Gul'dan could wait, all that mattered was getting Tyrande out of there. Idira stepped a little apart from them and swept her silver staff before her. She lifted it up, then brought it down against the stone floor.

Malfurion blinked, disoriented. That was the fastest teleport he had ever experienced. His thoughts hadn't even kept pace. They stood in a dripping, dank cavern, surrounded by the broken ruins of an ancient temple. Idira left them and moved to stand in front of the solid face of a stone wall. She pressed her hands against it, frost streaking away from her palms as she uttered several low incantations. Malfurion lifted his brow, incredulous. She was using demonic spells to open the way. He glanced at Khadgar, but the Archmage's attention was wholly fixed on Idira, worry and fear etching his features.

Demonic runes flared alight on the smooth surface of the stone wall, outlining the shape of an opening. The stone in between the runes vanished, opening the way into a dim tunnel, glowing with the faint light of fel. Idira touched the nearest rune and frost crackled away from her fingers, spreading around the opening's edges, freezing the runes. Malfurion was impressed. She had opened a demonic gateway, without taking on any of its taint, and then used her own magic to overcome it. Gul'dan would have sensed nothing from her actions, and, if all else failed and they couldn't portal out, they could always run out. Clever.

Idira did not look back, she entered the dripping, fel-infused tunnel. The light surrounding her staff glowed white, a star in the darkness. Khadgar followed close behind, his staff flaring to life, lighting the way ahead for those behind. Kalec went in next, Malfurion followed him. Xe'ra came last, drifting in their wake, her light cleansing the fel streaking the sides of the tunnel's walls.

They traversed the foul tunnel, leaking with corruption. Malfurion followed Kalec down the stone steps, descending into the deepest part of the tunnel under the sea's channel. Claustrophobia clawed at him, despite being able to spend years in the depths of a barrow den, this place, even after a few minutes, was intolerable. It reeked of evil, misery and death. Guilt gnawed at him as he thought of Tyrande trapped in such a dark and forbidding place. He had done everything he could, but it still didn't feel like enough. She should not have had to wait so long for help. He should have done more. He sensed the tunnel's surface beginning to incline. Momentary relief flooded him, soon their little party would reach the end of this accursed tunnel. The light from Idira's staff stopped moving, as did Khadgar's. Malfurion hastened to catch up.

Idira pressed her hands against the stone barrier blocking their way through, and murmured several dark incantations. Malfurion felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising, sensing the magic on the other side was very dark, paid for with the blood of innocents. The wall shimmered and Idira nodded at Khadgar. He muttered a low spell, and cloaked them all—even the glimmering Na'aru—with invisibility. The way ahead opened. Idira touched a rune on the wall, and once again, ice spread away from her fingers, encasing the edges of the opening in ice.

Khadgar took the lead, his form only visible by its faint blue outline. He edged out into the large corridor, the others moved in after him, quiet. They were so close now. Malfurion could feel his heart pounding. The corridor curved away from them foreshortening their view. He could hear a man screaming, his cries muted by the thick walls of the corridor. It sounded like Illidan. Malfurion's flesh crawled, the evil in this place was overwhelming, and his brother had been facing it, for all this time.

A sudden, unexpected surge of pride flowed through Malfurion. Illidan was still fighting, he hadn't given up. Ever since they were boys, Malfurion had known his brother was by far the strongest of the two of them. If only he had known it would come to this, he would have treated his brother better. Guilt replaced his pride as he realised all his life he had been wrong about Illidan. If his brother was truly evil, he would have succumbed long ago to Gul'dan, but still, Illidan fought on, determined to defeat the Legion no matter what the cost.

Khadgar began to move forward, but Idira touched his arm, holding him back. He turned and they looked at each other for a long moment, in silence. He touched her face, before bending to kiss her, as though it would be their last. Malfurion blinked, taken aback. He glanced at Kalec, who only watched them, his expression distant and tinged with sorrow, perhaps recalling his own tragic loss against the Legion.

The screams came again, and the pair broke apart. Malfurion caught the glint of tears in Khadgar's eyes. The Archmage turned, taking Idira's hand in his, and led the party forward, passing numerous openings, lined with glowing runes. They followed the curving corridor as it descended into another long, slow curve. The group proceeded, cautious, following Khadgar as he led them deep into the living rock, the shrieks of a man in terrible agony increasing as they neared the heart of the Legion's stronghold.

The corridor came to an abrupt end. Ahead, tucked into the inner curve of the wall, a vast opening, its edges lined with hundreds of glowing runes led into the Chamber of the Eye.

Khadgar edged ahead. Malfurion could only see Khadgar's profile, but he watched him narrowly, trying to gauge what the Archmage was witnessing from his expression, but apart from his jaw tensing, Khadgar did not give much away. He gave the hand signal for the others to approach. Idira joined him, and stood by his side. Malfurion didn't wait for Kalec, he slipped past him, and looked into the room. He stopped, stunned.

It was a nightmare. No it was worse than a nightmare, because it was real. The circular Chamber was large, but not vast, its ceiling swallowed by deep shadows. Malfurion realised the long spiralling corridor they had taken encircled the Chamber. In the middle of the space, a complex circle of runes pulsed with the fetid green of fel. Gul'dan stood, his back to them, holding his staff high. Long sinuous fel tethers writhed out of his staff and plunged into a large portal, returning soon after gripping a glowing green light in their maws. The slammed, vicious into Illidan's ravaged body, he bellowed as his body tore apart and reformed, morphing piece by piece into that of a dread lord. His wrists and ankles were bound by fel tethers, holding him spread-eagled. He strained against them, struggling, desperate to free himself.

Opposite Illidan, or what was left of him, was another, also held by fel tethers, and spread-eagled against the wall. Tyrande. She still looked the same, although unlike Illidan, she did not fight, she hung there, silent and still. Only her eyes had changed, burning with the colour of fel. Sickened, Malfurion looked at Khadgar, willing him to begin their attack. Khadgar turned and nodded at Xe'ra, who moved to the front of the group. Malfurion fell back, he would not get in the way, his job was to contain Gul'dan. But unlike in the barrow den, this time it was he who had the advantage. He looked at Tyrande, determined to save her, and bring her back from whatever hellish place she was trapped within. It could not be too late. He refused to believe he had lost her.

Khadgar raised his staff. It was time. Uncertain what else to do, Malfurion prepared to cast Solar Beam, his most powerful silencing spell. Khadgar brought his staff to the ground, and the invisibility spell faded. A wall of arcane energy burst from Khadgar's staff, and slammed into Gul'dan. He lurched forward, stumbling, gripping his staff to keep himself upright. He straightened his back, and turned, his eyes blazing, his fingers moving, rapid, already casting a spell. Khadgar and Kalec prepared to attack, but Malfurion hit him first, silencing him. Gul'dan narrowed his eyes at him.

"Malfurion, you are just in time to see your wife's transformation. She has a new master now. How fitting that you will be her first gift to Sargeras," he smiled, slow, exposing his rotting teeth. He waved his hand and Tyrande turned her head and looked at Malfurion, fel flames burning in her eyes.

Malfurion stepped forward, and raised his hand to her. "Tyrande, my love, I am here."

Gul'dan chuckled, and cast another spell, quick as lightning, raising a barrier around him, the same one Malfurion had seen in the barrow den. He cursed himself for falling prey to Gul'dan's distraction. Idira lifted her staff high, and an icy shield surrounded the little group. Blue fire exploded from Kalec and Khadgar's hands, sending enormous amounts of arcane power crashing against Gul'dan's barrier. All of them slid away, useless. Gul'dan laughed, full of scorn.

"His barrier is fed by the fel power in this Chamber, our spells will never break through it," Khadgar bellowed. "Xe'ra, it is time!"

Her wings spinning, Xe'ra slipped through the frost shield and into the Chamber. The white light within her growing so bright, Malfurion had to shield his eyes. A powerful beam of light exploded from her and pulsed through the portal into the Twisting Nether. It returned within a heartbeat carrying what was left of Illidan's ragged spirit, pierced and gouged in a thousand places. Malfurion gaped. He had expected to see the spirit of the demon hunter, but the one in held in Xe'ra's light was Illidan, his brother from Suramar. Malfurion's memories filled in the gaps left by the tethers, and pieced Illidan back together. For the first time in thousands of years, Malfurion saw his brother, just as he used to be before the War of the Ancients.

Their eyes met. A flicker of hope flared in Illidan's anguished ones. Malfurion felt his own hope rise; Illidan wasn't lost to Sargeras yet. Malfurion's heart lurched, shame filling him. Illidan had given up so much to buy the Azerothians time to stop Gul'dan and the Legion. His fight had always been against the Legion, he had only ever had one purpose, yet all the Azerothians had done was hate him, exile him, imprison him, and finally murder him. Malfurion roared, furious. He had failed his brother all his life, he would not fail him now.

The light carried Illidan's spirit to Illidan's body, and merged them together, Xe'ra flared again, and three more beams of light shot out, wreathing around Illidan's body, cleansing him, burning the fel tethers away from his arms and wrists.

Gul'dan chuckled, amused. "A Na'aru. How desperate you are," he said, his malevolent voice grating against Malfurion's ears. "But you are too late. Sargeras comes. Even your Na'aru's Light will not stop him."

Freed from his bonds, Illidan rose up, half demon hunter, half dread lord. He towered over Gul'dan. "No. I will not succumb. I will destroy you first."

Gul'dan lifted his hand, and Illidan slammed back against the wall.

"Not you, fool. Your will has been . . . troublesome. You have, however, brought me another whose will has been more easily broken." He chuckled once more, pleased, and waved his staff, before their eyes, Malfurion watched, his flesh crawling, as the images of Illidan's transformation into Sargeras's avatar played.

"A small spell," Gul'dan continued. "A token really, but enough of her spirit had been broken for her to believe the illusion I played for her. She sees what I tell her to see. In her eyes, you are already his. When she saw your transformation, she lost all hope and became—" he turned his hand palm upward and closed his fingers into a fist. He looked at Illidan, and sneered, "Mine."

Horrified, Malfurion turned to look at Tyrande. She watched them, expressionless, her eyes burning, cold. "No," he whispered.

Safe within his powerful shield, Gul'dan turned, and faced her. He lifted his staff, roaring, triumphant, "And now, Illidan, prepare to fulfill your new purpose. Between your fel-enhanced spirit and hers, there is more than enough to grant Sargeras his avatar." A bolt of fel energy streamed out of his staff linking Tyrande and Illidan together, they rose up into the air, each encased within a fel sphere.

Malfurion rushed forward, reckless, leaving the protection of the frost shield. "No!" he shrieked, casting spells, wild, desperate, trying to break through Gul'dan's barrier. Nothing worked. Every spell he had slid off the hateful barrier. He attacked it with his claws, tearing at it, beating at it with his wings, the force of all nature rose up within him. He would not lose her again.

"Tyrande!" he screamed. "I am here, it is not real, Gul'dan lies!"

Behind him, he heard Khadgar bellowing orders. The mages focussed their energy on breaking the link between Gul'dan's staff and Illidan. Xe'ra fired her light, weakening the tether, but as soon as it snapped, another snaked up to replace it.

A voice, crystal clear, rose up above the chaos. A spell resonated into the air, sharp, and the temperature in the room plummeted. A bolt of ice slammed into Gul'dan's barrier, freezing it. Under Malfurion's claws the ice chipped, he dug, frantic, sensing the barrier was weakening. Another bolt of ice, and the barrier turned brittle under his claws, a small crack appeared. He threw his weight against it, slamming his bear's paws onto it with all the force of Ursoc. The crack lengthened under his assault, he bellowed, frustrated and pulled back, thinking only to ram it. He ran at it, screaming. The crack gave way, and the barrier shattered. He slammed through the jagged shards of ice and into Gul'dan, the force of his blow knocking Gul'dan's staff out of his hands. It skittered across the floor, clattering, useless. Malfurion swept Gul'dan into the opposite wall, smashing him against it. There was no time to cast a spell, Malfurion's instincts took over, his rage and fear driving him. He pummelled the orc, whose body was as tough as the ancient trees of Ashenvale. He tore at the orc's face and torso with his bear claws, his wings beating back Gul'dan's arms, preventing him from calling his staff back.

Gul'dan roared a spell, and Malfurion felt himself fly across the air and out of the Chamber into the corridor. He hit the far wall, the bones in his rib cage snapping like twigs. He felt nothing. He tasted blood. He spit it out and picked himself up, rushing back in. Somewhere in the heat of his rage he sensed the link between Tyrande and Illidan remained intact, and the mages and Xe'ra were giving their all to break it. Let that be their problem. The plan to save Illidan and Tyrande and make their escape to Dalaran was long gone. All the days he had spent confined in Dalaran pacing his apartment, waiting, not knowing, and fearing for Tyrande hit him like a tidal wave, his emotions filling him with hate for the thing in front of him. He would tear Gul'dan's head off with his bare paws. He rushed at him again, his claws extended.

Gul'dan still didn't have his staff. Idira had frozen it to the ground, burying it in solid ice. Ice rimed Gul'dan's face and hands, Malfurion realised she was trying to freeze the orc, slowing his movements. Gul'dan fought her spells, fel energy crackling around his body. Malfurion reached him, his claws drove into Gul'dan's neck, tearing him, mauling him, blood splattered Malfurion's face. He bellowed, hungering for more, his animal instincts overcoming him. A flicker of fear showed in Gul'dan's eyes. Malfurion pulled back and slammed the orc onto the floor, landing on top of him on all fours. His cat claws dug deep into Gul'dan's torso, the orc squirmed, shrieking with pain. Malfurion dug his claws in deeper, relishing the slippery feel of the orc's entrails on his claws. He reared up and smashed his bear paws into the creature's twisted face, crushing bone, and breaking teeth. His claw hooked into one of Gul'dan eyes. He yanked it out, revelling in Gul'dan's agonised screams. He was winning. He could taste Gul'dan's fear as death stalked him. Gul'dan would not have his way, he would not bring Sargeras to Azeroth. Malfurion looked up at Tyrande, a savage smile on his lips, he had saved her, he was not too late—

The eyes of Sargeras glared at him, filled with hate. Tyrande raised her hand, and a thick stream of fel fire burst out of it, driving deep into his torso. Pain, beyond his worst injuries sliced through him, as a thousand condemned souls ate into him, gnawing at him. He screamed, clawing at his torso, trying to get the foul corruption out of him. It spread like the Scourge, relentless, until his whole body quivered, trembling on the brink of its annihilation. He felt the Light of Xe'ra washing over him, trying to cleanse away the evil, but there was too much, even she could not overcome the power of Sargeras.

He lifted his eyes to Tyrande, no matter what she would be the last one his eyes would see. "Tyrande, forgive me."

The pain took him, and he succumbed, falling into the darkness. It was over. He had failed.


	11. Chapter 8 Part 3

**CHAPTER 8 Part III**

* * *

Helpless, Illidan watched his brother fall. He roared, furious. The bond to Tyrande collapsed. He staggered to his brother's side, realising just how much Tyrande's transformation into Sargeras's avatar had taken from him. He knelt beside Malfurion, his brother still lived, but he was falling fast. Xe'ra's light surrounded him, sustaining him, holding him back from the brink of oblivion.

Movement beside Illidan made him look up, sharp. Gul'dan moaned, struggling to come to his feet. His face was completely ruined, a gaping hole where his nose had once been exposed the bloody interior of his throat. One of his eyes were gone, a seeping, viscous hole filled the orifice. Both his incisors were snapped off at their bases, and one of his ears hung by a thin piece of flesh to his skull. Blood matted his beard. He was almost unrecognisable. Malfurion had done his work well, if it hadn't been for Sargeras, Gul'dan would have fallen.

With great gentleness, Illidan set Malfurion back onto the floor and rose up before Gul'dan. He had lost almost all his strength to Tyrande's transition, but he still had his will, and he would not let this creature stand, ever again. He lifted his cloven hoof, and slammed it down onto Gul'dan's ravaged, bleeding torso.

Gul'dan grunted and fell back. Out of his nightmarish visage, he looked up at Illidan with his remaining eye, cold, his hatred unbending. "Even if you kill me, the Legion still wins," he rasped.

"The Legion hasn't won yet," Illidan said, grim, pushing his weight against Gul'dan's torso, crushing him against the flagged stone floor. The orc chuckled, despite his obvious agony, taunting Illidan. "Wait and see, nothing can stop Sargeras. Nothing. I just wish I could be here to see you try."

Illidan stared at the twisted, mocking face, filled with hatred. He wanted to make him suffer, force him to experience thousands of years of misery. He reached down with both hands, and closed them around the orc's throat, cutting off his air. The orc didn't fight him, he lay passive, letting Illidan do his work. It didn't take long. Gul'dan shuddered, his eye rolling back into his head. A heartbeat later his body went limp.

It was done. Illidan stood up and stared at the lifeless creature, the object of all his hatred for so long, and felt . . . nothing.

"Illidan," breathed Tyrande, her voice darkened by the taint of Sargeras. "You are mine now. You will be my Commander. Together we will cleanse the Great Dark of all life and defeat the Void."

A shield of ice sprang up from the floor around him, deflecting the fel that poured from Tyrande's eyes. She laughed, soft. "How quaint. Even when all is lost, still they fight."

He looked at her, apart from her eyes which filled him with an intensity that threatened to overwhelm him, she was still Tyrande.

"Do not look him in the eyes!" Khadgar cried out. Illidan tore his gaze away, but already the titan's taint had touched him. His thoughts tumbled, reorganising. Yes. The power Sargeras offered was beyond his wildest imaginings. And he could be with Tyrande. He could still protect her. There would be worlds to cleanse in the continuous fight against the Void. Sargeras's mind might be controlling her, but her body was still hers. Illidan could protect her, in the long fight ahead, she could still fall. He threw his head back and broke free of the icy shield. Tyrande smiled and held out her hand to him.

He went to her, and kissed it. She stroked his brow, tender. He knelt before her.

"My love, I am yours. Whatever you ask of me, I shall be that to you."

She looked at the little group assembled at the entrance of the Chamber. Disdain touched her lips. "Kill them."

A surge of power coursed through her fingers into him, he drank of it. It had been so long since he had felt true strength. He rose up, invigorated. Nothing could compare to this. He was a god. He stepped towards the group, his lips curving into a cold smile. From behind their wall of ice, the mages gripped their staves, determination radiating from them.

The Na'aru still fed her Light into Malfurion, he ignored it. The female mage, dressed in glittering white interested him more. Her aura of power was staggering. She outstripped the rest, even the Na'aru. He could sense Sargeras's thoughts, prodding him to remove her first. He turned to face her, lifting up his hands to draw from the fel energy that coursed through his body.

The Na'aru began to spin faster, the increasing pressure of her wings making the air vibrate. The walls of the Chamber shimmered, becoming translucent. The light brightened, the room fading to white. Illidan couldn't see the others anymore. Irritated, he turned and cast a wall of fel at the annoying thing, to extinguish it. White light exploded outwards from it, surrounded him, blinding him, burning the fel out of him. Pain screamed through him, weakness returned. His thoughts scattered. Who was he? Where was he?

Silence. He floated in endless Light. His vision returned, slow. Was he dead? Please, do not let his body be gone once more. He lifted his hands, or what he believed would be his hands. Before his eyes, they began to disintegrate, breaking into thousands of tiny cubes, so small, they flowed like water. The disintegration spread to his arms, consuming his torso, his legs, and finally his cloven hooves. The pieces of him whirled into a vortex, darting and spiralling around him like a vast school of fish. Somewhere in the centre of the silent maelstrom, was his awareness, his consciousness, just like when he had awoken the Nether. Once more he was nothing. He screamed. No sound came.

The Light parted, and from his cocoon he saw another maelstrom spinning in the distance in total silence. It moved, slow, closing the space. Fear came then. Illidan could not comprehend any of this. Nothing he learned about death had prepared him for this. The other swirling mass approached, building momentum, moving faster. He realised what was going to happen. He tried to pull away, but the Light held him firm in its grip. He sensed the outer edges of the other seething pillar touching his own. Its pieces began to infiltrate him, his mass growing, doubling, Light surrounded him, healing him, empowering him, binding the two lives into one. Understanding came. He asked the question, even though he was certain of the answer.

 _Malfurion?_

 _Brother, I am not long for this world, but I will aid you in your fight._ Malfurion answered, his voice strong once more. _We must not waste what the Na'aru has sacrificed for us, and for Azeroth._

 _I will not fail you, Malfurion._

 _Let us save the woman we love, together._

The Light flared, brilliant, one last time. A low, mournful chime filled Illidan's senses. He blinked. Once more he stood within the Chamber of the Eye, the walls, floor and even the distant ceiling glowed, suffused in clean, white light. He looked for the Na'aru, but where she should be, he found only empty space. He took a step back, and felt something snap under his tread. He looked down. Xe'ra's silent husk lay on the stone floor, the crystal pieces of her entity blackened and broken. He stared, stunned. She had given up all of her light. And now, the last Na'aru was gone. She looked so small and fragile. Without her light, she was nothing, ephemeral. A spasm of grief shot through him. She had given up everything to stop the Legion. He would not fail her. He felt his hands clench into fists. The light in the Chamber brightened.

He stared at his hands, and then the rest of his body, astonished. _He_ glowed with the light of the Na'aru. No longer did he bear the form of a demon hunter, Xe'ra's work had cleansed him. He was himself, a night elf once more, just as he was long ago in Suramar before the Legion's arrival. He sensed Malfurion's wild druidic power coursing through him alongside powerful surges of his own ancient arcane power, lost long ago during his transformation into a demon hunter.

Ahead, the little trio of mages—all there was left of Dalaran's rescue party—stood behind their frozen shield, immobile, their staves raised, defiant. He turned, even Tyrande, under the powerful thrall of Sargeras was not moving. Illidan realised Xe'ra had given him one final gift. During his transformation, she had stopped time, and by doing so had given him a great advantage.

But not for long. He could feel the creep of time returning, the low hum of the arcane magic being cast by Khadgar and Kalec; the chill in the air, caused by the presence of the enigmatic frost mage, and the metallic stink of Gul'dan's blood. Illidan turned, harnessing the power within him, and cast the three schools of magic as one. Arcane, wild magic and holy light poured out of him into Tyrande.

She jolted. He had enough time to hit her once more. His heart aching, he released the combined energies of his new powers against her, burning her. She juddered, still trapped in the amber of time. He was hurting her, he knew it. Even if Sargeras's mind was upon her, controlling her, her body was still hers, and the pain would be her own, just as she had suffered in the sphere. Only now it was not Elune who was burning her, but him. Light, the blessed, clean, holy light of the Na'aru, now housed within him, left him, draining away into her, cleansing her, burning the corruption of fel from her spirit.

Time returned. Arcane fire hit him in the back. He staggered, gasping. Khadgar and Kalec were powerful, much more than he had credited them for. He ignored the pain and continued to cast, focussing all his energy on banishing Sargeras from Tyrande—even if it meant killing her. He could hear the shouts of Khadgar as he called to the others, giving them new orders. Arcane fire slammed into her. Illidan almost couldn't bear it. They were killing her. He was killing her to save her. Never in his worst imaginings could he have foreseen this ending between them.

Tyrande's face twisted, becoming ugly, darkened by the rage of Sargeras. She thrust out her arms, fel energy crackling around her fingers. Illidan braced himself for her onslaught. A wall of ice rose up between them, absorbing enough fel to demolish a city. The shield remained, intact. Illidan turned, gaping. Who was that woman? As she held the shield in place her violet eyes glowed bright. Illidan's senses—enhanced by the Na'aru's light—told him he was looking at no ordinary human. She was something else. Whatever she had come to do here in the Chamber, it was not to just cast ice walls. She was biding her time, but why? He caught her gaze flicker to Khadgar, saw the anguish in her face. Ah. Hope. She was hoping the others could finish Sargeras so she wouldn't have to. Fel slammed against the ice wall again, Tyrande screaming in frustration as her attacks were rendered useless against the other woman's magic.

From behind the barrier, Illidan continued to cast his spells, until his arms shook from fatigue. He had unleashed enough power to take down an entire an army of demons, yet Tyrande still stood, driven by the fury of Sargeras; her eyes aflame, her body ravaged, pieces of her flesh hung loose, her skin blistered and bubbled, some of it had even melted away, liquefied. She was almost unrecognisable.

Illidan continued to cast, longing for her to die, so the nightmare would end; so her suffering and pain would end. Somewhere inside the creature she had become, was the woman he had loved for thousands of years, he knew she would be longing for the release of death, and he was determined to grant her that. Behind him, he heard Khadgar and Kalec casting spells, using all of their power to aid him. Soon now, she would fall. There was almost nothing left of her for Sargeras to use. Choking back his tears, Illidan focussed his mind and continued to fire lethal bolts at the woman he loved, to save her, and bring an end to the Legion, once and for all.

* * *

Khadgar hadn't had time to think about everything that had gone wrong since they arrived, everything had happened so fast. Malfurion and Xe'ra were gone, and despite Illidan's return as a powerful being, who now aided them, it wasn't enough. Even with their combined powers, Sargeras's avatar was proving to be near immortal.

Khadgar suspected it was the latent Light of Elune still within Tyrande which sustained her far beyond the point of physical death. But none of this really mattered if he was running out of mana. Soon he would be unable to cast anything more than a flame for a lamp. He glanced at Kalec, who appeared to have endless resources of mana, but then he _was_ the former Aspect of the Blue Dragonflight. He was glad he had agreed to let Kalec convince him to join them, instead of sending Kalec to aid the offensive on the Broken Shore. And Idira—he stopped himself from looking at her so as not to break his concentration—her power was incredible. How she was able to sustain her shields against the might of Sargeras, a titan, told Khadgar things he wasn't sure he was comfortable with.

Not even a Guardian could have done what she was doing, even so, he sensed Idira was using only a drop of her abilities. She was more powerful than even the Dragon Aspects. That left only two possibilities, a Na'aru, which she clearly was not, or . . . no, he wouldn't even allow himself to think it. They would survive this, Tyrande's ravaged body would succumb to their onslaught, and Sargeras would lose his avatar forcing him to return to wherever his stronghold was in the Nether and leave Azeroth in peace. Soon, it would be over, and they would return to Dalaran, triumphant. Tonight would be the beginning of a new life for him, with Idira by his side.

One of Illidan's spell hit Tyrande hard. She staggered, and fell to her knees, panting, on all fours. She turned her head, and looked up at them, her eyes churning with fel. She laughed, and for the first time when she spoke, he did not hear Tyrande's voice, but Sargeras's. His deep, commanding voice gripped Khadgar, mesmerising him. He lowered his staff.

"You think you have defeated me? Fools. There is always another. There will always be another, you will never stop me. Azeroth will be mine."

Silence fell. Kalec and Illidan stared at what was left of Tyrande as she dragged herself across the floor, trailing pieces of flesh, blood, and fel behind her. She reached Gul'dan and lay down beside him. Fel energy spiralled within her, and slid, sinuous into Gul'dan and across the room to the others.

Tendrils of fel touched Illidan first, wrapping around him. More tendrils shot out and imprisoned Kalec next. They reached Khadgar and brushed against him, sinuous. He thought they would be cold, but they were warm. They slithered up around him, tightening. He felt the immense power of the titan, and how much more he could be if he succumbed. Confusion clouded his thoughts. What had he been fighting for all this time? What Sargeras wished to do made so much sense. He was a benevolent titan, but none understood him. He had to destroy to create. A universe cleansed of all life was better than a universe controlled by the Void. Sargeras only wanted to begin again, but to do so, he had to destroy all life, even life as yet untainted by the Void. Yes. A fine plan. He understood Medivh now, finally, after all this time, Khadgar understood. It was a relief.

Illidan stiffened, his hands clenching into fists. Light sparked within his fists, and shot out, against the fel encasing him, a desperate, feeble attempt to overcome the power of Sargeras.

Idira walked through the ice barrier. The fel tendrils sliding between the mages and the pair on the floor eased away from her, unwilling to be touched by her. She stopped in front of Khadgar, and turned to look at him. Her hand slid through the barrier. She touched his face, the grief in her eyes palpable.

"My love. I shall miss you."

Terror seized Khadgar. No. They could still end this, they just had to free themselves from the hold of Sargeras. There was still time. He had to stop her. He couldn't move, the fel had encased him in its grip, in preparation for the theft of his spirit. He tried to call out to her, but no sound came. He watched, utterly helpless, his heart pounding, as she walked across the room to Sargeras, working to create a new avatar for himself out of the others.

"Sargeras," Idira said, quiet. "You will not have me."

Tyrande rose up to face Idira, a slow smile spread across her blistered lips.

"Ah . . . Azeroth herself comes to me."

Khadgar sagged within the grip of the fel, his worst fears confirmed. Idira was the world soul, Azeroth herself. Long ago, when Medivh was still his mentor, Khadgar had found a book in Karazhan that spoke of the titans, and of one, called Sargeras who had defeated them all in his obsession to cleanse the universe of all life. It had been said there was one, and only one world soul who could stop him, who had been cherished, protected and nurtured by the titans. Azeroth. It had seemed a fanciful tale, indeed it had been written like a story. But it was no story after all, it was true. Azeroth was alive, and had brought herself into the world, hidden away in the farmlands of Westfall, letting circumstances lead her to where she needed to be and the one who would give her access to the things she needed to learn so she could be here, right now, to defend herself and all that depended on her. Azeroth would live, but Idira would be no more. Khadgar felt tears burning his eyes. _Idira, my love, how shall I go on without you?_

Idira's eyes lit up, so bright the Chamber glowed with violet light.

"You are wrong Sargeras. _Life_ will overcome the Void, not fire."

Tyrande raised her hand and fel fire flamed from her fingers. "Fire is all there is," Sargeras hissed. "Even for you."

A wall of flames stuck Idira. They slid over her frozen gown, harmless, extinguishing. She smiled, soft. "Even in fire, life remains, both good and evil. You cannot cleanse evil by destroying life. It is the way of wisdom to understand there must be balance. Always, there must be balance."

She reached out and touched Tyrande's fingers. The fel burning in them retreated, rushing back up Tyrande's arm and into her torso, sweeping upwards until only the colour of fel continue to burn in Tyrande's eyes.

"You have done much harm to me, Sargeras. I have been patient, but the time has come to end this once and for all."

Brilliant light exploded from Idira. Khadgar felt the fel tethers binding him burn away. Released, he rushed forward, but the wall of ice still stood in place, preventing him from reaching her. He felt Kalec's fingers digging into his shoulders, dragging him back. Khadgar kicked out, struggling against Kalec's strength, smashing his fist against the ice, trying to break through it.

"No. Please. No!" he screamed, desperation clawing at him. He was going to lose her. He had to stop her before it was too late.

Kalec's arm came around his shoulders, jerking him, rough, away from the ice wall. The sound came next, a deep bass vibration that plummeted so deep, Khadgar's arms and legs went numb. He could feel every cell in his body shudder. The ice barriers exploded, and the winds of a hurricane blew outwards, tearing at his clothing, sending him slamming against the wall, whipping shards of ice across his face. The wind pushed into his nose and mouth. He couldn't inhale, he choked, gagging. Pinpoints of black speckled in his eyes, his vision darkening as he suffocated.

The hurricane stopped, abrupt. Silence fell. He toppled to the floor in a heap and gulped at the air, his lungs burning. He lifted his head, but he could see nothing, white light suffused the Chamber, cocooning him within its embrace. He sagged against the wall, panting. Idira. He crawled forward, blood dripping down his nose from his forehead, his hands searching the floor, trying to find her.

The light dissipated, slow. No longer obscured by the thick light, the features of the Chamber coalesced. Kalec and Illidan were on all fours, recovering. Illidan bled out from a deep gash in his temple. He shook his head, spattering blood onto the floor. Wiping his brow, he shifted over to what was left of Tyrande and picked her up, gentle. He cradled her against him, sheltering her, his shoulders wracking with silent sobs.

Khadgar knelt where Idira had last stood. Her silver circlet lay on the stone flags. The runes encircling it lay dormant and silent, their violet light extinguished. He took it up with both hands and pressed it against his tunic over his heart. Idira was gone. Numb, Khadgar sank back onto his haunches, and stared at the place where she had last stood cleansing the fel from Tyrande's ruined body. Idira had just been there, and now she was nowhere. He didn't even have a body to mourn.

"The portal," Kalec pointed at the wall. "It's gone. Azeroth herself has sealed the breach to the Nether."

Deep booms vibrated from far below the Chamber. The structure around them shook, trembling under the force of the shifting foundation beneath them. The floor began to tilt, groaning, under the pressure of its own weight. A rushing, grinding noise moved towards them from the depths. A massive pillar of rock shot up from the floor, slamming into the ceiling far above, a cascade of masonry rained down around them. The floor's tilt escalated, sending Khadgar sliding across it. He hit the opposite wall, fast becoming the floor.

"We have to get out of here, the Tomb is collapsing!" Illidan yelled as he crashed into the wall, still holding Tyrande against him, her blood spreading across his tunic.

Kalec cast a portal to Dalaran, Illidan leapt into it as a massive rock tumbled down from above, landing where he had just been. Clutching Idira's circlet, Khadgar stared at the glowing portal. The bright colour and order of the city of the Kirin Tor were no longer what he wished for. He took a step back, the thunder of collapsing walls within the vast structure deafening. Kalec gestured, frantic at the portal. Khadgar shook his head. He would stay. He had done his job, he had protected Azeroth. The Legion was vanquished. Azeroth had used Idira's life to channel her titanic power into the seal against Sargeras. He would die here, with Idira. There was nothing left for him now. Without her, his life felt empty, meaningless.

Kalec roared at him, his face twisting with frustration. The floor shifted again, throwing both of them back across the room. Khadgar slammed into the pillar, it hurt but he didn't care. A crack opened in the floor, and the wall they had just stood on slid into the abyss.

Kalec's lips were moving. Khadgar didn't need to guess what he was casting. _Kalec. Don't. Let it go. Leave me._

The ground moved again, and the abyss opened, wider. Sea water gushed from the depths, the rich smell of brine saturating the air. The water washed over Khadgar, soaking his heavy tunic and collar, dragging him down. Still he held onto the circlet. All his life he had wondered what his true purpose was. Now he knew, it had been to aid Idira, Azeroth's human vessel; to discover her abilities, and give her access to the library he had salvaged from Karazhan, which he realised he had never done for himself, but for her. Azeroth had guided his steps all his life, grooming him, preparing him for this, for Her stand against the Legion.

The world soul had chosen him, and now in a matter of days his entire purpose had been fulfilled and concluded. Nothing could compare to what he had experienced in the short time he had had Idira in his life. Nothing. The water pulled at him. He let go, sinking into the depths, even as the ancient masonry of the Tomb of Sargeras crashed into the waters around him. In death he would find her again. Idira was still a human, her spirit would be in the Nether. He would find her.

Light flashed. Khadgar opened his eyes. Dalaran. Xe'ra's room. Kalec, soaking wet, shifted over to him, and pulled him up by his collar. Khadgar looked at the circlet in his hands. Idira was alone. He felt Kalec's hand on his shoulder, gripping him, trying to reach him. Tears burned in Khadgar's eyes, making the circlet blur. He had left her alone, like a coward.

"Khadgar, I couldn't leave you. I couldn't do it. I understand your pain. I was there once too, but for her sake, you must go on, there is still much to do. The people of Azeroth need you to guide them."

Khadgar shook his head. No. He was finished. He teleported to his apartment and warded it. Still holding Idira's circlet tight in his grip, he cast another teleport and left Azeroth, intending never to return.


	12. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

* * *

Kalec's portal had sent Illidan to a sumptuous office. Several large rocks tumbled through the opening after him. Illidan bolted to the opposite side of the room, wary, watching the portal. Something was wrong. Why weren't they coming? Another cascade of massive masonry came tumbling in, crashing into the room, slamming into the office's delicate pieces of furniture, demolishing them. The portal disappeared. Still holding Tyrande in his arms, Illidan turned full circle, blinking blood and dust from his eyes.

There, a door, he went to it and tried the handle. Locked. He looked for a keyhole, a key, anything. Nothing. He cursed. Mages and their wards. He was stuck in here until someone found him and let him out.

He looked down at Tyrande, and started, astonished. Her eyes were open, looking at him. He carried her to one of the sofas and lay her onto it, gentle. Hardl daring to breathe, he knelt beside her.

"Tyrande. You still live."

She didn't answer, she couldn't, when Sargeras had been ripped from her, her jaw had been broken, Illidan suspected the Titan's soul had been dragged out of her through her mouth. He shuddered. She blinked slow. He nodded, understanding. She would leave him soon.

He blinked back the tears burning in his eyes. He needed to find a healer. He looked around, he was in Dalaran of all places, where almost anything could be accomplished. He only needed a portal to Darnassus, the druids could save her. He went to the door and pounded on it, calling for help until his throat was raw. No one answered. He sagged against the door. Of course not. Everyone was at the Broken Shore, fighting the demons. They were alone.

He went back to Tyrande and knelt once more at her side. He took her hand in his as gently as he could, trying not to hurt her. His brother's voice, full and resonant, broke into Illidan's despairing thoughts.

 _It is not too late. She can still be saved, if we work together._

Illidan glanced behind him, somehow expecting to find his brother standing there, whole again. _Malfurion?_

 _Yes, I am still with you. Harness both my power and the Na'aru's light. Use it. Heal Tyrande._

Illidan let go of Tyrande and looked down at his hands, he had only ever used the power within them to destroy, never to heal. He clenched them into fists. _Brother, I . . . don't know how._

 _Look at Tyrande. Imagine her whole again. Believe. Illidan, you can save her, it is not too late. I will help you. Just believe you can do it, and let our healing power pass through you._

Illidan shook his head. Believe? Was his brother mad? Magic was a skill learned and honed over years of practice, just believing wouldn't make anything happen. He looked at Tyrande, her eyes still open, watching him, how could she still live? It was impossible. A flicker of blue light passed through her eyes. He gasped. Elune's Light was sustaining Tyrande. He stood and took two steps back. He held out his hands toward her, uncertain. What if he accidentally cast his own magic? He would kill her. He looked into empty space, fear clawing at him.

 _Brother. Help me. Tell me what to do!_

 _Think of nothing but Tyrande, whole and healthy again. Think of nothing else but that, and the rest will take care of itself. You must be passive through the whole process, do not try to stop it, or interfere. Can you do that?_

If the situation had not been so grave, Illidan would have laughed. His brother was asking him to give up all his power, the only thing that he lived for, the only thing that mattered to him. His gaze moved back to Tyrande's. The light in her eyes had begun to dull, her eyelids drifted down, slow.

 _Illidan, we are running out of time! Elune's Light is fading._

"Use me. Heal her through me," Illidan cried out, fearing he was already too late. He would do this thing, no matter how much his nature fought against it. More than ten thousand years of fighting alone, and now he had to give up everything and stand passive, letting others use him to heal the only woman he had ever loved.

There was no warning, a rush of power surged up from his torso and down his arms. The Na'aru's holy light and Malfurion's wild druid magic glowed in his hands. His instincts bellowed at him to harness it. He clenched his jaw, and fought it. He stared at Tyrande, as their power poured out of him into her, forcing himself to see her as he remembered her the night he had taken her to the glade and made her his; how the light of Elune had bathed her healthy body, warm and soft in his arms. Light burned through him, more powerful than any arcane or demonic energy he had ever possessed. He longed to grab hold of it and take control. He cried out, frustrated, fighting his worst battle so far. He could not take control, if he did, Tyrande would die. He felt sweat breaking out on his torso, the muscles in his neck and jaw pulling taut. Sharp pain throbbed in his temples. Still he restrained himself, bellowing as he fought against his nature. The holy light left him, untouched. The light ended, and Malfurion's heals came next. New, raw, wild energy poured through Illidan, verdant with life. Again the desire to control, to hold his brother's power in his own hands overwhelmed him. Illidan screamed and fell to his knees, panting, fighting to hold on just a little longer. The last of his brother's power left him, abrupt. Illidan sagged, shuddering, gobbets of saliva hanging from his lips. He had done it. He wiped the back of his arm against his mouth, and rose up onto his knees. Tyrande.

She lay surrounded in a cocoon of white light, tendrils wove around her, piecing her back together. His brother's heals darted in and out, rejuvenating her, nourishing her. Still on his knees, Illidan shifted over to the sofa, moving as close as he dared without touching her.

Malfurion's voice came to him once more, fainter, weaker. _Brother . . . thank you. Tyrande will live because of you._ He continued, though each word grew fainter than the last. _Forgive me for having failed you all your life. I could not see what you could, but I understand now, what you did and why. Please . . . take good care of my love._

"Malfurion!" Illidan pulled himself to his feet, tears blurring his eyes. No, it couldn't be. His brother couldn't be gone. He called again, frantic, turning, searching for his brother's voice. Silence. He felt a lightness sweeping upwards within him, as Malfurion's spirit gathered, and fled. A brief sensation of emptiness filled him, ending quickly. Malfurion was gone. Forever. Illidan stared at nothing, grief circling him. Malfurion understood. He had finally understood. Illidan fell to his knees, and wept.

* * *

Tyrande woke to shadows. Was she dead? She moved her hand, and felt the softness of a cushion underneath her fingertips. Her eyes adjusted, slowly, working out the features of her surroundings. She couldn't turn her head, but the decor and arches of the ceiling told her she was in Dalaran. She lifted her brow, astonished. How could she be here, and living?

No. She wasn't alive, at least not as she used to be. All of this was an illusion, a trick of Sargeras. He would come to her soon, and reality would return, bitter and painful. She was a demon now, the consort of a titan. Soon all of Azeroth would burn. Tears gathered in her eyes as her last memory replayed, watching Illidan transform into Sargeras's avatar. Illidan was dead, as presumably all the rest were now, too. They had failed. She had failed.

She tried to lift her hand to brush away her tears. She couldn't. Her hand was so heavy, she didn't have the strength. She let it fall back onto the cushion.

Movement beside her made her freeze. Sargeras. He was right there. Her heart clenched, terrified. He would take her, and make her his, just like he almost did when he held her in his tendrils. He had done this to her, made her powerless, so she would not be able to fight him.

"Tyrande?"

Illidan's face leant over hers, naked with hope. A deep gash lay across his temple, crusted over with dried blood. Smuts of dirt and blood stained his face. Why would Sargeras come to her like this? Tyrande closed her eyes. It was another one of his games, he was trying to manipulate her. It wasn't real. He would change at any moment, and show his true self. This time she would not fall prey to his seduction, she would resist to the bitter end.

His hand touched her face, tender. "You live. I have waited for hours, I didn't think you would come back—" he shuddered. A tear splashed onto her cheek. Tyrande started. Sargeras would never cry. She opened her eyes. Illidan gazed at her, filled with joy. What was happening? She chanced the question, a wild tendril of hope taking root in her breast.

"Illidan is it you, or . . . are you Sargeras?"

He choked, and shook his head. Taking her hand in his, he kissed her fingertips.

"I was never Sargeras, my will was too strong. It was you he took."

"No. I saw you become him."

Illidan stroked her hair from her brow, his tenderness almost undoing her. "Gul'dan made you see a lie, to break your will. It worked, you almost killed us all."

She swallowed, frightened. "Then if I am his avatar, how can I be here? Am I dead? I don't know what is real anymore, I don't—"

Illidan's mouth covered hers, silencing her. He kissed her, passionate, possessive, his arms sliding underneath her. He pulled her off the sofa and into his lap, cradling her against him. Though Tyrande could do nothing to stop him, she realised she didn't want him to stop, after all they had suffered together, it felt right somehow. Real. He broke the kiss, soft. Remorse shadowed his features.

"Tyrande, forgive me. I shouldn't have. There is much to tell you, you will need time to recover. Sargeras is gone, banished from Azeroth by a being I cannot even begin to comprehend. You live, and are whole again. That is all that matters."

"It is over? We won?" Tyrande asked, incredulous.

Illidan nodded, tightening his hold on her. "Not all of us."

And then, his voice cracking with grief, he told her of Malfurion. Her heart shattered. How could he be gone? Strong, brave, stubborn Malfurion. She wept, far into the night.

When the light of a new dawn trickled in from the open doors of the balcony, Tyrande was still awake. From far below, she could hear the sounds of celebration in the streets of Dalaran. The door to the office opened and Kalec entered, exhausted, his tunic filthy with blood and ash. He stared, astonished, at Tyrande, whole again. Without saying anything to either of them, he cast a portal to Darnassus and walked away.

Illidan lifted Tyrande into his arms and carried her into the portal. On the other side, he walked through the Temple of the Moon, staring straight ahead, ignoring the astonished looks from the priestesses. He carried her to her house, and lay her on her bed, gentle. Catching the leg of a stool with his foot, he dragged it over and settled himself onto it, still bloody and filthy. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers folded together. His intention clear. He was going nowhere.

Footsteps pattered up the stairs, and the room filled with concerned faces. One woman pushed forward and took over, ordering healers to be found, and food and drink to be brought.

Tyrande let them fuss over her. A little chirp rose up from the floor, and Iasar jumped up onto the bed, uncertain. She approached her mistress and rubbed her head against Tyrande's inert hand, seeking attention. Illidan leaned forward and lifted Tyrande's hand, helping her to stroke the kitten. Tyrande smiled, quiet. She had forgotten how soft her little companion was. Iasar purred, and snuggled into the crook of Tyrande's arm, content.

A breeze drifted through the window, and Tyrande caught a whisper of her husband's scent on the cushion. The last time she had been in this bed she had been with Malfurion, and now he was gone, leaving her nothing but her memories. Her heart clenched, aching and raw. She had had no idea how much he had truly meant to her. But she knew now. She glanced at Illidan, watching her, his eyes veiled, hiding his feelings from her, respecting her need for time.

She closed her eyes, and let sleep call to her, knowing when she woke, he would still be there, watching over her, waiting.

One day he would have her. One day. But not today.


	13. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

Within his sanctuary, Khadgar lay on his bed, and stared at the bed's canopy, numb. He couldn't bear it, the ache of her absence. He wished for the hundredth time Kalec had left him to drown in the collapsing Tomb. A thought struck him. He sat up and rubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw, considering. He could use the font to go back in time and see Idira again, when she lived and studied here for those few precious days. To be able to see the soft curve of a smile on her lips—even if he couldn't touch her—it would be better than this emptiness . . . this nothingness.

He shook his head, thinking of his life before Idira had tumbled into it, marvelling at his blissful ignorance, his unawareness of how stark his life had been before she had caught his heart. He had thought his work with the Kirin Tor had completed him, that he had wanted for nothing. He had never understood those who were driven by the passions of their heart—but now he knew. Now he understood what love could do to a person. He recalled Medivh's brooding over Garona, and Varian's desperate grief over Tiffin's sudden death. Now he understood why Stormwind's King had become so hard afterwards, and why he had never loved again despite having plenty of admirers. Once the heart was claimed, there could only be the one. Khadgar looked at Idira's empty coffee mug on the bedside table and scoffed, bitter. But Varian and Medivh had had so much more time than he had had. Years. They had even had children with their loves. Khadgar had been granted mere days, and most of those had been squandered on preparations for the attack against the Broken Shore.

Bitterness clutched at him. How could Azeroth betray him like this? He had always been faithful and dutiful in his service to her. He had overcome his own mentor, and later refused the temptations of the Legion's power for himself. And for what? A brief affair, that ended almost before it had begun? For Idira to be torn apart by the very forces that inhabited her? He shuddered, as a wave of fury struck him. She would have suffered so much. She was still human after all. And she had suffered alone. She had always been alone. No more.

He rubbed his eyes, gritty from grieving, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He would use the font and find her again. He would drink in every detail of her, making up for his wastefulness of having taken her presence for granted. Outside of time, she would live again. He would stay there with her until his body died of thirst, leaving him trapped in the font's timeways with her for eternity.

He stood. In the corridor, a door closed, soft. He turned, his senses prickling. He was certain he had teleported here. Had he instead used a portal, and left the way open from his office? He couldn't remember, he had been demented with grief when he left. If Kalec had followed him . . . Khadgar shook his head, angry. How dare he.

Khadgar moved to the bedroom door and leaned out. Blue light glowed around the edges of the closed door to the library, playing against the walls and floor of the corridor. It looked like the light of a portal. Kalec must have broken Khadgar's wards and followed him. Khadgar cursed. How could he have been so careless as to leave a portal open to this place? He strode down the corridor and shoved the door open, bristling, furious.

The room pulsed with arcane energy. The books fluttered, excited, spiralling toward the library's centre. Violet streaks bloomed under Khadgar's feet, marking out a path for him to follow. He narrowed his eyes, suspicious, what childish game was Kalec playing? Gripping his staff, Khadgar followed the blossoming trail. Beautiful curlicues of violet energy spread away before him, beckoning him forward.

They led him to the library's centre, where his desk and chair stood. The violet streaks ended at his chair, its high back blocking his view of the intruder. He strode forward and spun the chair around, expecting to find Kalec.

The words he intended to say died on his lips. Idira looked up at him, whole once more. She smiled. His heart lurched. He sank to his knees, stunned.

"Idira? How is it possible?"

She touched his face and traced the outline of his jaw. He closed his eyes, his throat tight, as he realised her touch was not the touch of a living woman. He felt her leaning forward. She kissed him, soft. It was almost the same, but something was missing, _she_ was missing. He opened his eyes. She waited, watching him, uncertain. She bit her lip. He realised she was worried he would reject her gift. He shook his head. He would not, he could not.

He reached out and took her into his arms. She nestled against him, tucking her head against his neck, just as she had done in the brief time they had had together. He stroked her hair, his heart aching.

An echo. She had left him an echo of herself. She had prepared for this. Instead of thinking of her own fate, she had thought of him. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. She waited for him as he undressed. He lay down beside her, and took her into his arms, holding her against him, fresh tears burning in his eyes. He wasn't alone anymore. She might not be able to speak, and he could never be intimate with her, but just to have her there with him, an echo of the one he had loved . . . it was enough, he could go on, and fulfill the duties he knew were waiting for him back in Dalaran. He kissed her, his heart filled with gratitude. It was enough.

It would be enough.

He closed his eyes, and slept.


	14. The Story Continues!

**DAUGHTER OF AZEROTH - THE STORY CONTINUES**

* * *

The story isn't over yet! The sidequel, _Daughter of Azeroth_ , is a serialisation which is being published over 20 weeks from Dec 2016 to April 2017. It tells Idira's untold story.

Each Friday afternoon CET a new chapter is published both here and on Wattpad.

On Wattpad, _Daughter of Azeroth_ has been Hot Listed and Ranked since Dec 28, 2016. On Jan 29, 2017, _Daughter of Azeroth_ won Wattpad's Good as Gold Awards for the Fantasy genre.

Here's the blurb.

Born in Westfall to a poor family, violet-eyed Idira endures hunger, isolation and abuse at the hands of her cruel father until the dangerous kingpin of a criminal organisation rescues her.

As she grows into womanhood, cocooned in wealth and surrounded by violence, she learns her unusual eyes are harbingers of a rare magic she possesses, as old as Azeroth itself, which connects her to a powerful, charismatic mage trapped on another planet. Despite being twice her age and separated by an impossible distance, Khadgar captures her heart, though she can only love him in silence.

Driven from Westfall by the arrival of the Legion's vicious demons, she learns of the magical city of Dalaran and of Khadgar's return. Desperate to harness the power she feels growing within her and to meet the man of her visions, she determines to travel to the floating city and learn how to become a mage. But once she arrives, her unusual violet eyes soon cause her to become the object of everyone's scorn—everyone's, that is, except for one.

Khadgar.


End file.
